


Wrap Me Up In a Bolt of Lightning

by enc0432



Series: Band of Gallavich [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2143293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enc0432/pseuds/enc0432
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>World War II AU where Ian and Mickey meet at Camp Taccoma, training to be paratroopers. I'm borrowing pretty heavily from Band of Brothers which is why the boys are in Easy Company. I could not get the idea out of my head of Mickey being a combat medic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into the Nothing

_Into the nothing_  
 _Faded and weary_  
 _I won't leave and let you fall behind_  
 _Live for the dying_  
 _Heaven hear me_  
 _I know we can make it out alive-_ Breaking Benjamin

December 1944, Some fucking forest in Belgium

Ian lay in the snow, thinking of the fireworks back home. Thinking how he, Lip, and Carl used to spend as much time as possible firing them off, making their own. How Fiona had probably been right about fireworks being the death of him one day. She had just been wrong about the kind though. It was almost funny, he thought, as the artillery made the trees light up around him. He smiled even. Laughed.

“Ian! Sarge?! Jesus Gallagher get up!”

Rough hands grabbed the back of O.D.’s and started dragging him towards a foxhole.

“Are ya hurt?”

Ian blinked as Mickey looked at him, piercing blue eyes wide with worry. “What?”

“Are you hurt?! Gallagher talk to me are you hurt?”

“No…No Mick I’m alright.”

The medic breathed out a sigh of relief, keeping one arm over Ian’s neck and head. Sheltering him. Like it would make a difference. They crouched until the mortar shells stopped. Huddled together in hell. Then the cries came out.

“Medic!”

“Doc!”

“Medic!”

Mickey squeezed Ian’s neck and scrambled out of the foxhole. Ian swallowed and grabbed his gun. He had a job to do too. Namely, see how many had died this time. He ran through the camp, shouting.

“Stay in your holes! Stay down! Stay in your goddamned holes!”

He didn’t know if he could make it through the next barrage. Didn’t know if he would lock up again. But he didn’t have a choice. He got the men to stay down, dragging Williams into a foxhole, leaving his leg behind in the snow. Red on the white. Williams kept screaming and all Ian could do was cover him with his coat and cry out.

“Medic!”

  
And then once more Mickey was there, eerily calm. Keeping Ian grounded as Williams’ screams were lost again in the sound of mortar shells. He didn’t laugh this time.


	2. Heaven Knows

_Jimmy's in the back with a pocket of high_   
_If you listen close_   
_You can hear him cry_

_Oh, Lord, heaven knows_   
_We belong way down below_

_Sing it_

_Oh, Lord, heaven knows_  
 _We belong way down below_  
 _Way down below, way down below_ \- Heaven Knows, The Pretty Reckless

Twenty-one months earlier. Camp Toccoma, Wisconsin.

Fuck Currahee. Fuck Captain Harris. And fuck Milkovich for getting their passes revoked. A part of him, the part that could ignore his legs were threatening to give out and the fact he was about to puke, knew it wasn’t the man’s fault. Harris would have found an excuse to make them run the mountain again. Finally, he reached the top. Ahead of Milkovich. Beat him to the bottom too. As he bent over, gasping for breath, Milkovich slapped him on the back before doubling over himself.

“Damn Gallagher…that was almost…impressive.”

Ian resisted the urge to flip him off. The rest of Easy joined them, including Lieutenant Jackson and Captain Harris.

“Lieutenant why isn’t my company standing at attention?” Harris barked.

“Easy ten-hutt!”

They fell into formation, with shaky legs and and a lot of panting. Every man there was drenched with sweat. The captain looked them over, eyes flashing. Ian wondered what other fresh hell he had in store for them.

“Thirty-three minutes is not good enough for this company! You wanna be paratroopers? How’re you going to be paratroopers in my Army if you can’t even run up a damn hill?! Thirty. Three. Minutes!” He stopped in front of Ian, close enough where he could smell the man’s breath. “Is thirty-three minutes good enough for you Private Gallagher?!”

“No sir!”

Harris shifted to Mickey. “What about you Private Milkovich?!”

“I didn’t run it in thirty-three minutes sir.”

There was stunned silence. Harris just grinned and Ian swallowed down a groan. Milkovich had a serious death wish.

“In that case Milkovich, no one here gets water until you do it again. In under thirty-three minutes.”

There was a collective, weighted second where everyone stifled a groan. Ian would have felt bad for him if it was the first time he had ran his mouth off. Or maybe even the second. But three months into training and Milkovich just kept pushing the Captain’s buttons. Harris and Mickey glared at each other for a long moment, before the taller man started shouting again.

“Well Milkovich? What are you waiting for?!”

Mickey clenched his jaw and then started running again. Ian snorted and then realized his mistake too late.

“Something funny Private?”

Ian shook his head. “No sir.”

“Good. Go run it with him.”

He forced his aching legs forward, looking to catch up with Milkovich. Mostly so he could push him off the mountain. _Three miles up, three miles down. Fuck me._

~~

Mickey wandered into the barracks, finding Gallagher going through his shit. He stared, disbelieving for a second.

“What the fuck Gallagher?”

The ginger glared at him, holding up a tie. “You’re going to get yourself washed out.”

“What do you care? Get out of my stuff!”

He went to grab the redhead. That was when he lifted out the peaches.

“Jesus Christ you’re a moron Milkovich. You stole from the kitchen?”

“Fuck off.” Mickey grabbed his shoulder.

Gallagher rounded on him, slapping his hand away. Mickey grabbed his shirt, intending to clock him. The taller man swung first though. The blow landed in his gut and that tore it. Mickey tackled him to the ground. They kept their fists below the face, even in the heat of the moment neither of them wanted to get thrown out. Then somehow Gallagher flipped him, straddling him and pinning him down.  
Mickey could not get him off. Not without head-butting him. Gallagher glared at him. They just stared at each other, panting. Then Gallagher broke the silence.

“What do you need so much contraband for? Are you trying to get Harris to kill you?”

“Get off of me man, Jesus.”

The redhead snorted smugly. “Or what?”

It was a good question. Mickey was too exhausted from running Currahee yet again to do anything about it.

“Stop getting Easy in trouble and I’ll let you up.”

Mickey bit his lip, wishing he could clock Gallagher again. “Fine Firecrotch get off of me.”

Gallagher did, straightening. Mickey tilted his head at him.

“You fight pretty well for a Mick. Where you from?”

“Chicago.”

Mickey started. “Me too…South Side.”

He didn’t know why he said anything to the redhead. It was embarrassing. Gallagher just grinned though.

“Same here.”

That explained Gallagher’s ability to fight. Somehow, he found himself swapping stories and throwing out his contraband with Firecrotch. They shared the can of peaches.

Somehow, he found himself making friends with Ian Gallagher.

~~

It got better. Easy got better. Milkovich got better. The idiots washed out, the ones who could stick it out did. Months went by, and try as he might, Harris could not break them. He picked on Mickey and Ian especially, which only made them closer. When Ian was so tired in the middle of a twelve mile march he wanted to fall down in the mud and stay there, it was Mickey who dragged him along. When Mickey puked running to the top of Currahee, it was Ian he stuck with him to make sure he made it to the top.

When Mickey got the letter that one of his older brothers had been killed in Italy, it was Ian who got him pissed on their next pass, drinking so much they barely made it back to base in time. When Harris saw the red in their eyes and the clamminess of their skins, he made them run the fucking mountain again. Three miles up, three miles down. And like always, they stuck it out together.

And Ian found himself able to forget about his own brother in Japan. About the family he had left behind. About the fact they were training their asses off, becoming the best of the best, only to jump out of a fucking plane. He could sneak a smoke with Mickey and forget, just for a time, that he was training to die.

~~

“They picked me to be a fucking medic?!”

Mickey could not believe it. He had signed on to shoot Krauts not run around take care of dipshits who got shot. Fucking Gallagher clapped him on the shoulder.

“Congrats Doc.” He said it with a shit-eating grin.

Mickey flipped him off. “Can’t believe they’re making you a fucking noncom.”

“Probably cause I can see over the other guys.” He smirked.

Mickey wondered vaguely if they would kick him out for breaking Ian’s nose. He hadn’t sown on his chevrons yet, it didn’t count.

“Hey don’t piss me off Gallagher I might be saving your ass one day.”

“Just my ass? Can you save the rest of me too?”

Mickey ignored him and sat down on his bunk, picking up his boots to polish. “Shit this means I’ll have to save Harris’ ass too.”

“It might get pretty dicey wherever we wind up. No one has to know if you accidentally miss a bullet hole or two.”

His stomach curled in anticipation. Even if it was a joke. It was easy to forget sometimes, when he and Ian were dicking around, or running up Currahee thinking he was going to die, or laughing when Gallagher got turned down by a dame during a pass even in his uniform. Easy to forget why they were here. He had expected to stand alone. That was their motto after all. You jump alone, you’ll probably die alone too. And now he was going to be in charge of keeping these fucking idiots alive. And Gallagher was going to be doing the same damned thing, keeping the men afloat when the world fell apart.

The air between them grew heavy. Ian watched him, green eyes full of the weight he was taking on. Then he slapped the boot out of Mickey’s hand, causing it to fall to the floor. Ian jumped to his feet, doing his best impression of Harris and sticking his nose an inch away from Mickey’s.

“Wake up Private Milkovich! I would not take that boot to war and I will not take you to war in your condition!”

Mickey bit his lip and then lunged at Gallagher, knocking him into his bed. _I’m gonna fucking die because of this moron._ He wrestled Ian to the bed, pinning his wrists.

“Sergeant Gallagher feel free to go fuck yourself.”

Ian laughed and then fucking Williams walked in, tilting his head. “Captain’s on his way.”

Mickey jumped off Ian like he’d been bit. Gallagher jumped up to, trying not to meet Mickey’s eye. Which made him snap.

“The fuck you staring at Williams?”

The man snorted, raising his hands. “Not a damned thing Milkovich. Fucking yankees.”

Mickey frowned. He wondered if he could break the smug Irish fuck’s nose without getting kicked out. Before he could decide, the rest of Easy began falling into the bunks. He finally caught Ian’s eyes and the ginger winked smugly before getting himself ready for inspection. Mickey groaned inwardly. Firecrotch was going to be the death of him.

~~

They got their wings. They were paratroopers. After two years they were finally going to war. Ian got as happily drunk as the rest of Easy, looking down at his chest. A heavy thump and and the sound of glass hitting the table and Mickey was across from him, biting his lip again.

“You know Gallagher they won’t disappear if you stop staring at them.”

Ian leaned across the table, getting dangerously close to Milkovich. “It’s Sarge to you now Mick. Now shut up and get me a beer.”

Mickey pulled out a second glass from under the table, sliding it to Ian. “Yes sir.”

Then he fucking smiled. Ian felt his stomach flip completely against all reason. He took the beer and clinked his glass to Mickey’s smiling himself. They drained their glasses and Ian though he saw the shorter man blush. Could just be the beer. The lies he told himself. He realized then even if the Krauts or the Japs didn’t get them, they were fucked anyways.

~~

Mickey stared at the Statue of Liberty as the sun set. He’d never seen her before. Probably never would again. Medics didn’t live long. He wasn’t sure how he felt, knowing at last they were going to England. They were going after Hitler. He wanted fiercely to jump into Berlin. Maybe he’d steal a gun and shoot the Kraut bastard himself. He took another drag of his cigarette, barely noticing when a large, freckled hand all but grabbed it from his mouth.

“Jesus Gallagher get your own.”

“That was the lord’s name you just took in vain trooper.” Ian grinned around the butt, eyes twinkling.

Not twinkling fuck. Just shining. He wanted to jump off the boat at the thought. He didn’t like that he thought Gallagher looked good in this light. That Ian was his only close buddy. He’d never had that before, had never had much before he signed up. He had to lock his shit down before he did something stupid. But all he did was light another smoke and watch the sun fade away. They retreated below decks together, crammed like sardines with the rest of the regiment.

He and Ian had taken bunks together, Mickey’s on top. He didn’t much that night, thinking about all of the things that terrified him. That he would get the letter from his sister, saying another one of his brothers had been killed. That he himself would get killed and leave her alone with their father, as if he hadn't already done that. That the light would go out of the green eyes below him, and it would be his fault.

That the sounds of the ship’s engines would fade to those of a bomber, and he wouldn’t jump because he was too fucking scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to keep the chapters tied to one chapter per episode of Band of Brothers but as I wrote the story it started to work out differently. Oh and to clarify When Mickey calls Ian a Mick he means the Irish slur.


	3. Be the Lightning In Me

_What if this storm ends?_

_And I don't see you_

_As you are now_

_Ever again_

 

_The perfect halo_

_Of gold hair and lightning_

_Sets you off against_

_The planet's last dance_

 

_Just for a minute_

_The silver forked sky_

_Lit you up like a star_

_That I will follow_ \- The Lightning Strike, Snow Patrol

_May 1944, England_  

In the end they didn’t jump with Harris. It turned out Harris could train them up, with the help of Jackson, into the best company in the 101st. But once out in the field, the man could not run the company worth a damn. He buckled under pressure easily. Ian knew in his gut, the first time Harris got them lost in the farms of England, that he would get them killed when they finally did jump. Could feel it in his bones. 

He would look at his men, see them dead on the ground because Harris had somehow made Captain without ever reading a fucking map, and he would get angry. He was getting close to his squad, even Bull starting to look to him and the giant had four years on him at least. Especially since Ian had lied about his age to be able to sign-up. They were looking at him to protect them from Harris’ incompetence. He felt helpless. 

The worst moment was when they were holed up behind a perfectly good hill, running war games with Dog and Fox company. Harris was glaring at the map like it offended him. 

“Where in the hell…we need to change position.” 

Irritation had Ian clenching his jaw. Jackson looked at him, seeing the heat in his cheeks, and shook his head slightly. Ian exhaled sharply as the Lieutenant dealt with Harris. He looked over to Mickey, who looked as pissed as he felt. An idiot could see they were in a good place to defend themselves. 

“Sir we can fortify ourselves here. If we move we’ll be out in the open…” 

“Lieutenant move my company out!” 

Jackson tongued his cheek. “Gallagher, Garcia, on me.” 

Ian hefted his weapon and got his squad moving. It took all of the three minutes for them to run into Dog Company, Colonel Meyers shouting at them. 

“Captain Harris congratulations. You just got ninety percent of your men killed. Leave three men here and head back to base.” 

Harris swallowed and pointed at Ian, Bull, and Mickey. “You three stay here.” 

Ian lay on the ground next to Mickey and Bull. That was it. He had to do something. He exchanged a glance with Mickey, who glared at him. 

"What’re you gonna do about that shithead Gallagher?” 

Ian shook his head, at a loss. Then he thought about the look Garcia, their first sergeant, had given him. An idea began to form in his mind, but he needed to get a better beat on the other noncoms first. He grinned at Mickey, who just bit his lip. 

“I don’t like that look Firecrotch.” 

Ian threw a fistful of leaves at him. “You’ll learn to love it Doc.” 

~~

Mickey wasn’t sure what Gallagher had planned, but it needed to happen soon. Even though Jackson had been made First Lieutenant, he was now being court-martialed. No one knew if he could get out of it. He was surprised though, when Ian came up to him, rubbing the back of his neck. He was almost bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking antsy. 

“Spit it out Gallagher Jesus.” 

The redhead looked around, but they were alone, out on the airfield. “Me and the other noncoms are going to sign a paper saying we resign from Easy Company. We can’t go into battle with just Harris. Can’t go in with him at all.” 

Mickey started. “That’s a stupid fucking idea. You’ll all be lined up against a wall and shot.” 

The look on Ian’s face told him he knew that. Knew and didn’t care. It stirred something warm within Mickey, something violent. He didn’t want Ian going out like this, mutinying for the sake of Easy Company. For the sake of one Mickey Milkovich. 

“Don’t-” 

He bit his lip. He didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Gallagher eyed him, mouth half-quirked in an attempt to smile. 

“Mick I’m not going to let him get you killed. Trust me.” 

Gallagher knew he was about the only guy here Mickey trusted. He didn’t know how to tell the ginger if he died and Jackson was court-martialed, there was no one else here he wanted to follow into battle. It wasn’t supposed to work like that. He wasn’t Ian’s medic, he belonged to Easy. But as far as Mickey was concerned, without Gallagher there was no Easy Company. He choked on the weight of the words though. Ian clapped a hand to his shoulder and he cast his eyes down. 

“Be careful.” 

“Course Doc.” Ian removed his hand, shit-eating grin back on his face. “Hey if I die there’s a picture of your sister in my footlocker you’ll probably want back.” 

Mickey charged him and the ginger jumped away, laughing. “Get the fuck out of here Gallagher.” 

The redhead waved and walked off, Garcia and the other sergeants waiting in the distance. Mickey sighed, shaking his head. Fucking Gallagher. 

~~

As they walked out of Meyers office, Ian almost breathed a sigh of relief. Only one of them had been booted, one bucked to private. They were not being lined up against a wall and shot. And he would get to see Mickey Milkovich again. Their group spotted Jackson on their way out and saluted as one. 

It was a heady feeling when he found the medic waiting for him outside of his tent, smoking a cigarette. He knew it was wrong to be as attached to Mickey as he was, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be ashamed anymore. He wouldn’t act on it, wouldn’t take the cigarette from Mickey and kiss him like he really wanted to. He was not about to scare the man off when seeing him made Ian light up like a Christmas tree. 

But he could take the smoke from him and grin. “Well…we didn’t get shot.” 

“Yeah I can see that Firecrotch. What happened?” 

“Garcia got busted back to private. Jenkins is out. Don’t know if it’s going to work but I think we got Meyers thinking.” 

Mickey just shook his head. “Jesus Christ Gallagher.” 

He laughed though. Ian laughed with him, thinking it might be one of the few quiet moments they had left. He shoved the thought from his mind though, bumping his shoulder into Mickey’s. 

“Come on I’m hungry.” 

“Yeah I hear fucking with death will do that to a man.” 

Ian winked. “It wasn’t fucking it was flirting. Too soon to fuck.” 

Mickey groaned and stepped on the back of his shoe. Two days later they got the news. Harris was out, and Jackson was staying with Easy Company. Captain Buckland was taking over for Harris. 

Relief flooded Ian’s veins. He was walking on air. And he turned out to be wrong about having few quiet moments left. He and Mickey had several together. Watching a movie side by side, Ian imitating John Wayne just to make Mickey smile at him like he was an idiot. Chain smoking together until their lungs were raw and Jackson yelled at them to cut it out. A moment where Mickey dragged him out to one of the bombers, sneaking into the cockpit with a can of peaches and a spoon.

No, their last quiet moment was June 5,1944, when Mickey handed him his airsickness pills, biting his fucking bottom lip. Ian wished he could kiss him, pull him into a hug, do anything to tell him it was going to be okay. Or to let Mickey do the same for him, because the truth was he was fucking terrified. Instead, he could only brush his fingers lightly over the medic’s, and pray. Though to who he wasn’t sure. 

That was their last quiet moment before they jumped into hell.

~~

_Ian was leaning back on his elbows in the field of grass, watching the bombers fly in and out. Long legs splayed out before him casually, face tilted to the sun. His ginger hair was lit up against the afternoon sun. Gold and amber strands caught the light. His bottle-green eyes caught the sunshine in a way that made him ache. Mickey fought the urge to grip his chin and kiss him, claim him as his own. Instead he grabbed the ball away from Gallagher. The leather was warm under his hand and he grinned as Ian chased him, trying to get it back. Mickey ran away, laughing. Then he realized Ian wasn’t with him anymore._

_The sun disappeared. There were clouds and lightning. He turned, looking for Ian, only to see him clutching his side, blood spilling over his hand. Red on white skin. Mickey tried to run to him, try to get to him in time. He realized that the lightning was gunfire._

The plane jostled and Mickey’s head hit the back of his seat, forcing him awake. Williams had let him fall asleep. He shook himself and lit a cigarette, watching the dark clouds and lightning roll by the plane. He had been trying to pretend to himself lately the dreams meant nothing. He was just worried about losing his best buddy. Who wouldn’t be with their odds. But here in the plane, hours, minutes, or even seconds away from death, he could not lie to himself. All of his dreams were about Ian. He took a drag of his cigarette and leaned his head back. God help them both.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay last bit of build-up before D-Day. Chapters will be longer and more intense after this. Any questions or anything I can clarify please let me know.


	4. D-Day

_Wrap me in a bolt of lightning_

_Send me on my way still smiling_

_Maybe that's the way I should go_

_Straight into the mouth of the unknown_ -Call Me, Shinedown

 

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die._

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die._

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die._

_He ain’t gonna jump no more! -_ Blood Upon the Risers

 

 

June 5, 1944

Mickey knew he was fucked when the plane bucked. Williams got hit next to him. Garcia forced him to jump before Mickey could even attempt to patch the idiot up. Then he made Mickey jump. It was worse than he could have imagined, jumping out into the fiery night. He would have to thank Garcia though, because the plane exploded just as Garcia got out. The plane had been moving so fast he was clear of the blast, his leg bag getting blown off with the concussion. It was long, quiet, fall to the ground. He was alone but for the gunfire in the distance. He stripped his harness and was relieved when another trooper landed. 

“Flash!” 

“Thunder!” 

Mickey ran to the guy and started helping him strip his gear. “Who are you?” 

“Name’s Hall Doc. From Able company.”

Shit. That meant one of them was way out of their drop zone. Or both. 

“Any fucking clue where we are cowboy?” 

“No. And my radio and leg bag got it with the prop blast.” 

Mickey grunted. “Sounds about right. Come on let’s get outta here.” 

Hall nodded, hefting his gun. At least one of them had one. Mickey wished he’d studied the map a little better, but he had some idea of where they were. Enough to get them to a river. He pulled his knife and got Hall down behind him when he heard twigs snapping. 

“Flash!” 

A long moment passed and then “Thunder!”

He let out his breath. “Lieutenant that you?” 

“Yeah Doc it's me.” 

Mickey was relieved to see Jackson. Bull, Garcia, and a couple of privates he didn’t recognize were with him. No Ian. He pushed thoughts of Ian burning alive in the plane aside. He checked a scrape on the lieutenant silently and Jackson clapped his shoulder. 

“Let’s figure out where we’re supposed to be, shall we?” 

Mickey nodded, handing the man his flashlight and map. The lieutenant had no gun, gear. Yet he was as calm and assured as ever, making Garcia give him his raincoat and ducking under it with the flashlight, orienting them within a minute. 

“Alright we’re about four hours from where we need to be. We've got a lot of walking to do.” 

Mickey fell in behind Bull, chewing his lip. Walking he could do. His fingers itched for a weapon, for anything. But he had to keep his hands free, hoping the red cross on his arm would be enough to keep him safe. It was a while now before sunup, but he could steel himself in the dark. He could handle the Krauts, medic or not. It was Firecrotch he worried about. _Gallagher keep your dumb ass alive._

~~

Ian landed in a tree, cursing. He had lost everything but his useless chute and a knife. Worse still was there were Krauts not far from his position. He could hear them speaking German. He pulled his knife out and cut himself loose, rolling when he hit the ground. He jarred his ankle. It popped painfully, almost making him cry out. He cursed and took cover by a tree. A mouth clapped over his and he struggled until he heard the whisper in his ear. 

“Flash Sarge.” 

When he relaxed the stranger moved their hand away. “Thunder.” 

He turned, not recognizing the private who handed him a pistol wordlessly. Four more men were with him. He was the highest ranked. They were waiting on him. Ian looked beyond the trees, whispering. 

“On my signal…Now!” 

They jumped out and attacked once the Germans were in sight. Ian shot the first one through his eye, the men behind him taking out the rest of the squad. Once they were clear Ian ran to the man he had shot. He didn’t think about it, lifting his rifle off of him as the private behind him spoke rapid-fire into his ear. 

“We’re about seven kilometers from the objective Sarge.” 

Ian nodded. “What’s your name Private?” 

“Jones sir.” 

“You’re Dog Company right?” 

“Yessir. Popeye over there is Dog as well, these three are Charlie.” 

Ian looked them over. Only Popeye and and Jones had their leg bags still attached. At least The boys from Charlie still had most of their gear. 

“Alright let’s move out.”

It was bad that they were so far out of their drop zones. Bad he had no idea where anyone in Easy was. Bad all he really cared about was knowing where Mickey had wound up. _Not the time or place Gallagher_. He moved the men along, heart hammering. There were random bouts of gunfire as they sloshed over a river and then just tense silence for two hours. They ran into one more German squad before the sun rose, taking them out with no problem. The boys behind him were tense enough to snap. So was Ian, but he had to hide it for their sakes. 

Somehow it was the pain in his ankle that kept him together. Irritating the shit out of him. Kept him grounded when the sun rose and they came upon the wreckage of a plane and a bunch of guys that would never jump again. They lay dead in the trees of the clearing and on the ground. Ian checked them all over. Not one was a medic. He still had hope Mickey had made it out okay. It disgusted him how relieved he felt as began lifting supplies off the dead. 

“If you need anything grab it now.” 

Popeye just stared at the dead man in the tree. Ian wanted to feel something for the man, knew he probably did. It had almost been him up there after all. But it wasn’t the time or place. 

“Private let’s go.” 

Popeye looked at him blankly and then nodded. Planes buzzed over their heads. _Their_ planes. The bombs started dropping and Ian looked at his watch which was somehow still working. 

“That’s the Navy. Right on time.” 

One of the men looked at him. “Don’t think these guys would agree sir.” 

“We won’t be able to either if we don’t keep moving.” 

The man nodded, looking forlorn. Ian took another look at the bloody, broken bodies at his feet. Torn open. Lifeless. Then he shook himself. He was still alive and he intended to stay that way. 

~~

Terry Milkovich was a butcher. From a young age, Mickey and his brothers had helped in the shop, numbed to the hot stink of blood by necessity. If Alan hadn’t bought it in Italy, the butcher shop would have been his when he got home. Their father was a lot of things, alcoholic, abusive, but he was loyal to Alan. _It should have been you. Not your brother. Not Alan._ His father had actually written that to him. Mickey imagined him, there in the muddy streets of France, bent over a desk and breaking the pen as he scratched out the letter to his least favorite son. The one that looked like his late wife, the one who hadn’t taken to being elbow deep in dead animal blood all day. 

The one who looked at the pile of dead horses on the ground, leaking out so much blood the street was soaked in it, and thought about his other brothers. The ones who hadn’t helped his father beat him. Iggy was the only he would miss if he died, out there somewhere in Africa. Then someone jostled Mickey and he looked away from the pile of dead horses. He went to the aid station and dove in, trying out his untested medical skills. Men poured in, some shot, some banged up from the jump. Some dying. 

The blood he was used to. The screaming and thrashing he was not. But to his surprise, he found he was good at what he did. Could calm the men they set before down, follow the surgeon’s orders when needed, and dig in. It was good to have something to do. Good to know that each man that came underneath his hands was not Ian. 

Until it was. He looked up as the ginger darkened the doorway, nose crinkling at the stench. Mickey couldn’t help but grin as Gallagher’s eyes landed on his and he limped further inside.  

“Heya Mick, Jackson says you need to patch me up.” 

He was limping pretty badly. Mickey tapped his ankle with his toes and Gallagher winced. 

“Seriously?” 

Mickey forced him into a chair. “Just diagnosing the problem Sarge.” 

“My ankle fucking hurts. You didn’t need to kick it to test that out.” 

“I think you’ll live Gallagher.” He pulled off Ian’s boot. “What happened to you?” 

Ian shrugged. “Landed in a tree.” 

“You walked all the way here like this?” 

Mickey cringed internally at that. The ankle was purple and black already, swollen. 

“Didn’t have much of a choice now did I?” 

Mickey snorted and tightened the bandage a little too tight, making Ian wince. “You need to stay off of this.” 

Ian shook his head. “No can do Doc. There are big Kraut guns waiting for me to take them out.” 

Mickey wanted to hit that stupid smug look off his face. Instead he jammed Gallagher’s boot back on his foot. He bit his lip at Ian’s angry glare as the younger man bent to lace up the shoe. He looked around and then sighed. 

“Don’t be a fucking hero out there Sarge.” 

Ian got to his feet, still wincing. He rested a hand on Mickey’s shoulder, squeezing it. Mickey didn’t meet his eyes. 

“I’ll be fine Mick. Find some smokes while I’m gone yeah? Mine were in my pack.” 

“Christ Gallagher get some off all the Krauts you’re gonna kill. Now get outta my aid station.” 

He tried to swat Ian’s hand away but the redhead was already gone again. Mickey gave himself one moment for a new bout of relief and fear, tasting them in equal measure, before getting back to the dying. 

~~

Once Ian had reassured himself Mickey had all of his parts, he followed Jackson for the assault on the guns. Almost all of Easy’s noncoms were back, as was Lieutenant Foley. Captain Buckland had never shown up. He was dead or MIA. Either way he was going to miss the assault. 

Ian fidgeted as Jackson laid out their plan of attack. He was their commanding officer if Buckland didn’t show. He was going to be with Jackson for the main assault. They loaded all of the ammo they could find, stole a couple of privates including this kid Hall who looked even younger than Ian, and shed all of the gear that wasn’t TNT or ammo. 

Then they were in the shit. Got right next to a Kraut trench, hidden behind some bushes. Beyond them were the big guns, and Germans firing steadily with their rifles. Jackson commanded them silently to throw their grenades. They pulled their pins and then threw all three in sync. The trench exploded and then they were scrambling into it, through it, clearing out the germans. 

It was all mud and shouting. Ian killed two more Germans, trying to keep Hall alive. Then a grenade exploded behind them. He got the Kraut who threw it but the shrapnel got Hall in the ass. He kept screaming and Ian ducked next to him. 

“Fuck sir I’m sorry sir!” 

“Calm down private. Can you make it back on your own?!” 

They were shouting through chaos. “Yes sir!” 

Ahead of them someone got the first gun. Ian needed to move up with the lieutenant. 

“Alright! Get ready to hump it.” He pulled Hall up by the back of his jacket and all but threw him out of the trench. “Go!” 

He covered Hall until he was away and ran up. He met Jackson and the others at the second gun, just as it popped off. 

“Gallagher cover the Lieutenant!” 

Ian did, heart in his mouth as his ammo ran low and the Lieutenant ran to the third gun. He killed another three Krauts, his fellow noncoms Babe and Dent stuck with him. One of the Krauts landed close to him and Ian saw his luger. Ian grinned. He had promised Carl, who was way too young even to lie about his age, that he’d bring him back a German weapon. So against all good sense and Mickey’s advice he jumped out the trench, rounds popping off at his feet. Babe and Dent screamed at him. 

“Gallagher you crazy Irish bastard! What the fuck are you doing?!” 

He grabbed the Luger, stomach clenched as he took cover behind the body. Then he gathered his breath back and ran back into the trench, Babe and Dent red-faced with anger. He got back safely, grinning. Babe hit him as Ian took position again. The third gun was taken out. Then the fourth. That was Dog Company, he could see them from where he was entrenched. The Germans fled the area and then that was it. That was the end of Ian’s part in Operation Neptune. 

~~

The surgeon forced Mickey out of the tent, still splattered with blood and ears ringing from the sound of broken men. He was to find some food and then help move the wounded out. The whole company had an hour of “rest” before they needed to move out again. Mickey wandered over to the back of the truck he saw Bull hopping out of. He stuck his head in, seeing Ian laughing and smoking with the others, using an ammo box to cook and pouring whatever the hell he had made into the men’s tins. 

“Hey look it's Doc!” 

“Howdy Doc.” 

Mickey ignored them and let Ian pull him up, sitting heavily next him. The ginger handed him his cigarette and a tin. He still had that stupid smug grin even when Mickey sniffed the food and made a face. 

“What did you do Gallagher?” 

“Yeah since when does an Irish man know anything about cooking?” 

Ian flipped Babe off. “By all means don’t eat it. More for me.” 

“Yeah you can’t be missing a meal Gallagher. Too damned scrawny.” 

Ian ignored Mickey and pulled out a luger. Mickey grinned for the first time all day. 

“No fucking way.” 

“Yeah do they grow everyone that stupid in Chicago or is it just a Gallagher thing?” 

Ian reached over and stole Dent’s wine bottle. “Just a Gallagher thing.” 

He shared the wine with Mickey who handed the luger back, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the stupid ginger had done to get it. He was just glad he was here, and that Mickey could sort of lean into his warmth, had to by the confines of the truck. Glad he could eat the shitty food and laugh with the guys for a moment. It had been a hell of an introduction to France. Ian grabbed his wrist lightly when he knew the others weren't looking. It was brief, burning fire into Mickey's tired limbs. The touch was both relief and anxiety, too much and too little all at once. Worn out as he was, he could only move himself a little closer to Gallagher in response. All too soon he had to step out into the night again. All too soon he had to leave his redhead behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flash and Thunder is how the paratroopers identified each other during Operation Neptune, also better known as D-day. At some point Ian and Mickey will do something about their feelings for each other. I realize Ian is a little callous here that's on purpose.


	5. Diamond Eyes

_I'm on the front line_  
 _Don't worry I'll be fine_  
 _the story is just beginning_  
 _I say goodbye to my weakness_  
 _so long to the regret_  
 _and now I see the world through diamond eyes-_ Diamond Eyes, Shinedown _  
_

June 12, 1944. Carentan, France

Carentan was silent, the air pregnant between its stone buildings. Ian was tensed, coiled like a spring. Waiting on Foley’s signal. Then he gave it and first platoon was charging together, trying to be as quiet as possible. Jerry finally made his appearance, a corner of the building Ian took cover behind flying off. He was stuck behind a wall with Garcia, who was serving as the radio man now. 

“Where the fuck did everybody go?!” 

Damned if Ian knew but Garcia kept asking him as another shell hit the building. Ian peered around the wall to find two Krauts lodged in like ticks in a storefront. He grinned and pulled out his grenade when they turned their gun to his right. 

“Garcia cover me!” 

“Got it Sarge!” 

He ran straight at the Germans, moving fast. He pulled the pin and threw the grenade into the storefront, taking cover. The blast cleared the storefront out and he was able to move into the building. Garcia joined him a second later. They cleared the building and Ian looked back through the smoke to see men still trapped in the ditches by the road leading into the city. He heard sharp pops as the Krauts upstairs bought it. They moved through the street, connecting with second and third platoons who had just cleared another two buildings. He spotted Daniels on top of some iron stairs, and he was shouting and waving his arms over the gunfire. 

“They’ve got us zeroed! Get out of there they’ve got us zeroed!” 

Ian pushed Garcia in front of him. “Go! Go!” 

He ran out into the street. Had to get the others out. 

“Move! Move! Get off the damned street!” 

The shells were pouring in then. He made sure the men from second and third he could see were moving up and clear before he thought about turning. Of course, that’s when the shell landed next to him. 

~~

Mickey hung back behind the riflemen with a couple of other medics. A squirrely man they called Doc Harper who would not stop praying, and a crazy fuck he kind of liked, Doc Gray. Mickey wouldn’t have minded Harper so much if he prayed in silence like a decent man. Gray he actually go on with. He had seen Gray after they had landed. He lifted a gun off a dead trooper and went after Jerry himself, giving Mickey’s temporary squad time to cover him. They took his gun away though. 

Like everyone else, they were waiting for the gunfire to start. He spotted Ian when the riflemen started charging in, briefly seeing the fear on the redhead’s face as the Germans started firing. His stomach clenched painfully as he lost Ian and the rest of first platoon as they took cover in the buildings. The blast that blew the corner off one of the building had him instinctively ducking for cover. Then it started again. 

“Medic! Medic!” 

He exchanged a look with Gray and they began moving up with third platoon. It was shouting and chaos and gunfire. Mickey just focused on the wounded, forcing Ian from his mind. He watched though as Bull started clearing a building. Watched from a stranger’s side as the boy bled out beneath him. Mickey poured sulfa on the wound and then heard Bull’s strangled shouting. 

“They have us zeroed! Take cover! Get off of the street!” 

Mickey dragged the boy into a building with him, seeing Harper giving last rites to a few more fallen men. He ran towards Mickey finally, Babe and Foley covering him. That was when Mickey saw Ian. He was standing out in the middle of the fucking street, clearing people off of it. Then Mickey could only watch as a shell landed inches away from Ian, blasting him back into the wall. He was running to him before he’d even made the conscious decision to move. 

~~

Ian was pretty sure he was dead for a second. Not because he hurt, but because everything was astoundingly white. White noise and white light. Then someone was grabbing him, twisting their hands in his O.D.’s. 

“Stupid fucking idiot.” 

Ian blinked, his ears were ringing but he could hear Mickey cussing him out and gripping his chin and knew he wasn’t dead. He looked down to see he was bleeding from his leg, and then the pain kicked in. Mickey ripped open his pants to check the wound and shook his head. 

“You’re alright Gallagher. Everything is right where it should be” 

He sounded relieved himself. Ian let him pulled numbly to his feet, artillery still raining down on them. They both could only watch together as another shell blew apart Sanchez, one of the men in Ian’s platoon. He started forward and Mickey held him back against the wall. 

“He’s fucking dead Ian.” 

Ian strained against him and Mickey slammed him against the wall. Ian looked into his eyes for the first time, those fucking blue eyes, and saw his pain echoed there. He stopped thrashing and they took cover inside one of the building. Mickey poured sulfa on his leg wound and then the calls for a medic started again. Mickey squeezed his shoulder and ran out into the street. Ian knew the man was going to kill him, but he got up to rejoin the fight. 

~~

Mickey was going to kill Gallagher. He was forced back to the aid station, and the idiot walked in an hour after they had officially taken Carentan, blood still on his face and up and down his O.D.’s. He’d lost a couple more guys. Nothing he could have done about it. One look at the ginger told Mickey Ian didn’t care, he was blaming himself anyways. Mickey made him sit and started cleaning and stitching the leg wound. It wasn’t bad, wasn’t pretty but it wasn’t bad. 

He peeled off Ian’s helmet and started cleaning the cuts on his face. He was going to scar. Ian was glaring at him for some stupid reason. Finally, the ginger couldn’t hold it in any longer. 

“Would you at least say something?” 

“Something.” 

Mickey tried to put a couple of stitches in his cheek and Ian slapped his hand away. “Why are you trying to fix me up? Why do you give a fuck?” 

“Christ Ian can I deal with this stupid shit before I deal with your stupid shit?” 

“I’m a dead man anyways. We all are.” 

Mickey looked around the aid station, seeing Lieutenant Jackson throwing Ian a glance. Mickey bit his lips and dragged the redhead to his feet. He led him to an empty room upstairs and slammed the door shut. Then he turned around and slammed his fist into Ian’s gut. 

“Did that hurt Gallagher? Could you feel it?” 

He spoke the words softly but he was seething with rage. Ian was too. He tried to swing back and Mickey tripped him instead, whipping his feet out from under him. Ian grabbed him by the ankle and brought him down hard on top of him. Mickey pinned him quickly though. As usual he could handle himself better in the hand to hand. 

“Answer the fucking question.” 

“Yeah Mickey I could fucking feel it.” 

Mickey grunted, glaring into Ian’s eyes. They were dark with rage, with the shadows of the men he seen die. 

“Good that means you’re still alive you stupid shit. When it stops hurting come to me and bitch about being a dead man.” 

Some of the tension went out of Ian then. Some, but not all. The air was thick around them, and had nothing to do with the world outside. He realized he and Ian were still panting. Still out of breath, and still staring at each other. He was still on top of his sergeant. Mickey felt the warmth pooling in his belly and he jumped off Ian like a shot. He all but ran from the room. 

~~

Ian had both too much and too little time after Carentan. They moved out quickly, having more cities to take. He was himself again thanks to Mickey’s punch in the gut. Now he was getting thumped on the back for taking a mortar round to the face. Not strictly true but he wasn’t about to argue it. He barely got to see Mickey at all after the medic hit him. Too little time to see him and talk to him, though what there was to talk about he wasn’t even sure. 

And watching the line at night for hours in the rain gave him too much time to think about it. How good Mickey felt on top of him. How the medic kept him grounded in all the chaos. He had to think about that moment, about days spent with Mickey, to keep from thinking about the men he had killed. To keep from zoning out when it was quiet and seeing blood. He didn’t want to be like Smith, laying awake next to him in the trench because he was trembling with fear. 

Ian preferred being under fire, because at least he couldn’t think about anything but keeping his men alive. About keeping himself alive. Even at times when he found himself staring down the business end of a Jerry tank. They tank fired, almost taking him and White with it. Ian was trying to convince White not to bolt before he could line up his Bazooka. 

“You’re going to get me killed Sarge you’re going to get me killed!” 

“Just wait private. Just wait!” 

The tank fired and the concussion knocked them over. Ian straightened White and the bazooka, holding him and the gun steady as the tank got closer and closer. His stomach clenched, he held his breath, and then it was time. 

“Fire!” 

The round landed and Ian was dragging White back down the hill with him. The tank blew and tipped forward. It was great, but there were two more right behind it. He and White got into cover and Ian started firing at the Germans, but more tanks were rolling in and then…and then the Shermans showed up, taking out the Jerry tanks. A cheer went through the men. They flushed the rest of the Germans and got pulled off the front lines to a field camp. Word went around they were going back to England. 

Ian didn’t believe it. Didn’t believe France was done with them. Didn’t believe the guys who claimed they’d be in Berlin by December. He took his shower and ate his warm meal and then just sat in the sun. He didn’t believe anything except that he needed a smoke. Which of course, was when Mickey appeared wordlessly besides him, pulling out a pack. He was covered in blood, he always seemed to be covered in blood these days. He lit a smoke, took a deep drag, and then handed it to Ian. All without looking at him. Ian smiled and stretched his legs out, tilting his face to the sun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shermans are the U.S. Army tanks in this chapter.


	6. Let the Sparks Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fair warning probably the most graphic chapter to date.

_Give me one if it's real_

_And two if you can feel it,_

_Give me three signs that you're awake,_

_It only takes one spark_

_For two to fall apart_

_And three more to blow it away_

 

_Let me take you into the light,_

_There's nowhere to hide,_

_There's nothing but darkness left here_

_Shake it up and let's take a ride_

_'cause heaven's not far away_

_And I'm not gonna leave you here._ -Let the Sparks Fly, Thousand Foot Krutch

 Allied Base, England. July, 1944

_He was startled out of his bed by mortar fire. He knew it was artillery and not thunder now. He moved slowly, looking for Ian. Always looking for Ian. But his legs were slow. His heart beat wildly in his chest as the broken house he was in faded to a grassy hill. He was back in Normandy. He was back in Normandy and Ian was there, on the top of the hill. Kissing an SS trooper._

 " _What the fuck Gallagher?!”_

_Mickey crested the hill at last. Ian gave him a twisted approximation of a smile._

_"He isn’t afraid to kiss me.”_

_Then the SS trooper stabbed Ian in the stomach. All Mickey could see was the red blood over white hands. Ian fell to his knees, blood spilling over his lips as he clutched the handle of the knife. The manic grin still twisted his face cruelly as Mickey reached him, pulling the knife out and pressing his hands to the wound._

_“Don’t-” There was so much blood, Mickey started to panic. “Don’t you fucking dare leave me Ian.”_

_Ian gurgled, choking on the blood and Mickey cupped the back of his head. Ian reached up with a shaking hand and touched Mickey’s face. His tears mingled with Ian’s blood._

Mickey came awake with a gasp. Just opened his eyes and let his heart race in silence. The silence almost made him miss the artillery. After a time he rolled over and forced himself back to sleep. 

~~

Ian stole a motorcycle. Or not so much stole it as borrowed it. He was fully intending to give it back to the Army. Mickey just stared at him dubiously, biting his lip when Ian pulled up and told him to hop in. 

“You want me to ride in the sidecar like I’m your girl or something?” 

“Have you ever driven a motorcycle before?” 

Mickey snorted. “Have you?” 

Ian tossed him the bottle of whiskey he’d lifted. “Come on you can drink the whole time. 

“Fine but I’m not your gal or nothing like that.” 

“Nobody fucking said you were.” Ian winked. 

Mickey rolled his eyes and jumped in. Ian laughed and accelerated as hard as he could. He shouted over the engine to Mickey as the country-side rolled by. 

“They’re making me First Sergeant!” 

“High-larious!” Mickey tipped the bottle back. 

It was in a way. They’d lost sixty-five men by the time they’d been pulled off the front-lines. He was being promoted because he hadn’t died yet basically, and better men had. He took the bottle from Mickey who didn’t bother to argue. The country-side was fucking beautiful. Particularly going as fast as he could make the bike go. Green hills and clear skies, and quaint little Brits in quaint British farms. The wind whipped against and he stood up and shouted. Mickey shouted with him. 

Ian almost didn’t see the truck in time. He swerved wildly, taking the next bend way too fast. 

“Holy shit Gallagher!” 

It made his heart race and Ian only shouted in elation again when they didn’t die. Mickey hit him and then tilted the bottle back again and Ian found he was too happy to care. Particularly with the way Mickey’s lips wrapped around the bottle and his Adam’s apple bobbed when he drank. Or the way he wiped his mouth and then bit his lip when he saw Ian staring at him. 

“Keep your eyes on the road you crazy Irish bastard!” 

Ian grinned and revved the engine again, forcing his head back to face the road. They were alive for the day at lest, he wasn’t sure he could ask for more. 

~~

Mickey was drinking with Gray and playing darts when the newly promoted Captain Jackson grabbed Ian by the shoulders and shoved him in front of the men. 

“Say hello to your new First Sergeant boys! He’s got an announcement to make.” 

There was general clapping and Mickey threw his last dart before turning his full attention to Ian. The ginger straightened his shoulders, eyes dark in the lamplight. His smile was tight and Mickey knew what he was about to say, his tightening around his beer. 

“We’re jumping into Holland. Releasing them from German occupation. Prepare yourselves fellas, I don’t think they’re canceling this one.” 

With that he melted back into the silent crowd. Mickey drained his glass. While he did the guys started talking again. If he had looked around the room he would have noticed only the replacements looked happy about the news. He didn’t though, he had eyes only for the redhead as the man left the building. Mickey followed him. He wasn’t quite sure yet what he was going to do, but if they were jumping again he had _do_ something. 

Ian was smoking, leaning against the stone wall. It was dark, only the moonlight to light his pale skin. He smiled at Mickey, the scars on his face dark, twisting over his cheek. Mickey’s fingers itched to reach out and stroke them. Instead he jerked his head. 

“Come with me.” Ian raised his eyebrows and Mickey bit his lip. “Come on.” 

He tried to keep his voice light and Ian put out the smoke, following him. Mickey had found a quiet shed that locked the day before. He realized he must have made the decision to somewhere between then and now to do shove Ian inside and crush his mouth to his. He was terrified in oh so many ways. Terrified to push Ian into the wall and kiss him desperately. 

But it would have been worse not to, especially when Ian kissed him back. 

It was heated, with teeth and tongue, desperate. But Mickey had to do it before they jumped again. Needed to tell Ian to stay alive in the only way he knew how. Because Mickey couldn’t follow him around, couldn’t protect him with a gun. He could only hope Ian didn’t get shot. Could only try and fix him after the damage was already done. Ian, to Mickey’s ever-lasting admiration, didn’t say a damned word. Just clutched Mickey’s face in both hands, then slid them down to his hips. Just moaned when Mickey broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together. Their breaths mingled together, and Mickey was grateful just to have one moment where they were both still alive and Ian was all his.

~~

The jump into Holland wasn’t anywhere near as bad as the jump into France had been. In fact, it was probably the smoothest anything had gone since they’d left training. Instead of random drop zones and fire raining down on their head, there was just the quiet urgency to lose their chutes and move into the city. Strained silence as they waited in the ditches outside of the little Dutch town. Only White running along with a bunch of beer bottles that Ian had no idea where he got them. He shook his head and turned his attention back to road. A lone figure appeared, carrying an orange flag. 

The colors of the Dutch Resistance. Jerry had left the city. They suddenly found themselves among people dancing and singing. Orange and the colors of the Dutch flag everywhere. The streets were filled to the brim. One woman grabbed Ian by the shoulders and started kissing him. He disentangled himself gently, catching Mickey’s eye and grinning. The medic snorted and Lieutenant Foley pulled him aside. 

“We need to find Captain Jackson. Snipers.” 

Ian nodded tightly, finding the other noncoms and their new Lieutenant fresh from West Point, Doyle. Pulled Garcia out from between a woman’s breast and did his best to keep the men moving through the streets. Doing his best not to look at Mickey. He did pause once, when men from the resistance pulled woman to their knees, cutting their hair off. Jackson was there and Ian leaned into him. 

“What did they do?” 

One of the Dutch men answered. “They slept with the Germans.” 

Ian rubbed the back of his neck and informed Jackson about the snipers. He nodded. 

“Get scouts to the edge of town in case we’re for the night.” 

Ian did as he was told. Slept outside under a tree with Mickey and White. They moved on the next day, riding on the tanks to the next town. Passing a woman with her shaved head and blonde baby. Exchanged glances with Mickey as they rolled up to the next town and Lieutenant Doyle hopped off the tank with his binoculars. Bull whispered next to him. 

“There goes General Patton.” 

Ian shouted out to him. “Lieutenant!”

That was when the Lieutenant turned his head and the sniper got him anyways and the shit started up again. Mickey and Ian ran to the Lieutenant as the rest of the men cleared off the tanks and went into the ditches by the side of the road. Mickey gripped the Lieutenants throat, bubbling over with blood. Without having to be told Ian helped him get Doyle to the side of the road. 

Then he had to leave them there. “Keep your head down Doc!” 

Mickey nodded, working to stop the blood spurting out of Doyle’s neck. Ian reconnected with his men, the streets of the little village silent once more. Men shouted back and forth to each other, but their cries were hollow in the empty streets. Ian led his men over walls and through buildings, looking for the Germans. Anything that could knock out the tanks. He found it, a Jerry tanks waiting next to a hay bale, camouflaged with it. Ian looked back at Babe, first platoon’s new sergeant. He covered his eyes with his palm and then gestured to Brit tank behind them. Babe nodded, grabbing White and running to let them know about the Jerry tank. All Ian could do was wait, nothing but a flimsy brick wall between him and the muzzle of a Kraut tank. 

What the Brit should have done was fire through the building towards the tank. Instead, the idiot rolled up after Babe and White jumped off. Rolled up and got taken out by the Jerry tank as more Germans rolled in. Ian heard machine gun fire and turned to clear out the platoons still waiting behind him. 

“Fall back! Fall back!” 

And he ran with them, he did. But he was caught on the road between a Jerry tank and a British one, and the British tank took out the Kraut tank. Though he only knew that when he was blasted into a ditch, looking back to see the tank behind him on fire and getting ready to crush him under it. He scrambled forward, hearing Babe shout his name but there were two Krauts on the roof with a machine gun, their bullets laying between him and the men. He was trapped. The tank was almost on him and he had to take cover so he crawled into a drainage pipe. The Germans sent their men in and suddenly there were at least ten enemy troopers between him and the Allied line. 

He crawled in further into the pipe, watching as the Allies lost the city and he was left behind. 

~~

Mickey was, frankly, too busy to notice that they had lost the city. He stabilized Doyle, helped carry him to the rear. Then he had to confirm a couple of the replacements were dead, and run back to the front because Garcia had been clipped. It was the usual chaos, and in the back of his head all he could think was _Ian, Ian, Ian_ , but he had a fucking job to do and he was really good at his job so he kept working. Even when they sounded the call to retreat. Even when they started making everyone pile into the trucks and get out of dodge. Even when he overheard Babe tell Jackson the number of casualties, and that no one knew were Ian was. 

Because his heart had been yanked out of his chest and he didn’t know what to do besides jab a syrette into the body under his hands and hope he could stop him from dying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say is I hope none of you are German cause all of the racial slurs are even starting to bother me. Also sorry about the cliffhanger. Also I try not to but I did use a few names from men who actually were Easy company, including Bull. Just a disclaimer but the characters are different men and any resemblance is not intentional I'm just bad at coming up with names. I want to make it clear I have nothing for respect for the men this story is based off of.


	7. I'll Follow You Down

_If I could find assurance to leave you behind_

_I know my better half would fade_

_And all my doubt is a staircase for you_

_Opened out of this maze_

 

_The first step is the one you believe in_

_The second one might be profound._

_I'll follow you down through the eye of the storm_

_Don't worry I'll keep you warm._

_I'll follow you down while we're passing through space_

_I don't care if we fall from grace_

_I'll follow you down_ -I’ll Follow You, Shinedown

Mickey checked every man that came under his hands at the aid station. Not a one was ever Ian. No one had seen him killed, seen his body. But they hadn’t seen him alive either. So after the surgeon let him go he went to find Babe, eating silently with his squad of replacements. it was full dark, and the Dutch city they had strode through was now burning to the ground. Mickey walked up to Babe, not having the capacity to think about the civilians now.  

“Any word on Gallagher?” 

Babe shook his head slowly, looking guilty. He had been the last one to see Ian alive. Mickey barked at him. 

“Give me your gun Sarge.” 

“What?” 

Mickey’s fingers twitched. “Give me your gun, I’m going to go look for him.” 

Babe eyed him, looking him over. Then he got to his feet. 

“No you’re not Doc. That’s an order. Keep your ass here. I’ll go.” 

Bull and White popped up behind Babe. “We’ll go with you Sarge.” 

“Yeah Doc don’t worry, we’ll get your buddy back.” 

Upcham, one of the replacements, clapped Mickey on the shoulder. He considered stabbing the kid only momentarily. He remembered him crying as they had retreated earlier. Babe raised his eyebrows, staring at Mickey until he nodded. 

“Alright.”

They went to grab ammo and Mickey stalked off to be alone. Found a tree to lean his back against. He lit a cigarette with shaking hands, watching the city burn. Then he broke down. Shaking and crying, trying to keep quiet. He knew he was still alive then, because it hurt. He was alive, surrounded by his brothers, and he had never felt more alone in his life. 

~~

As night fell the only light came from the tanks still on fire. He had made his way, quietly and with his heart in his throat, out of the pipe into a barn. The blast from the tanks and left a chunk of shrapnel in his shoulder, making it hard to breathe or even raise his gun. He fixed his bayonet and collapsed against some hay. _Hey Mick it fucking hurts. Hurts real good right about now._ He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, occasionally hearing snatches of German from the road. He was tired, he ached, and he was fucking pissed. He clutched his rifle, letting his mind drift a little bit to blue eyes and warm lips. He was quickly brought back to reality but the crunching of straw and opened his eyes, raising his gun towards the sound and putting his finger on the trigger before registering what had actually happened. He found a Dutchman staring at him, his pretty daughter behind him. They raised their hands in surrender. 

Ian breathed heavily through his mouth, not sure what to do. Stab the man, the girl screamed and the German’s would find him. Shoot them both and the Germans found him. His shoulder throbbed painfully and he almost dropped the gun. He collapsed back against the hay bale, oh so tired. He tilted his rifle so it was on the butt, and slid down until he was sitting. The Dutchman grabbed his shoulder, mumbling something as he opened the back of his O.D.’s. He started digging his fingers into the wound, making Ian flinch. 

“Just dig it out already.” 

The man removed his hands, frustrated, and Ian sighed and handed him the knife from his leg. He almost bit through his lip trying to keep quiet as the man dug out the shrapnel, showing it to Ian with a pleased look on his face. He could breathe a little better, at least until the man pulled out a flask and poured whiskey into the wound. He offered some to Ian and he only waved him off. _Situation FUBAR Mick. I hear that’s German for we’re all gonna die._ That was about the time the door to the barn opened and he heard a man calling out in German. 

He jumped to his feet and moved behind the bale. Dutchman and his daughter ducked behind another one a foot away. He got his rifle ready, pressing his finger to his lips for his two companions. The longest two minutes of his life were listening to the lone trooper walk further into the barn. He could kind of see around his bale. The German moved up the middle, and Ian was afraid for a moment that the Dutchman would act, doing something stupid like striking the trooper. But he didn’t and the German turned around. 

Turned around and saw the blood from Ian’s wound. Freezing. Ian didn’t hesitate, creeping up behind the man and stabbing in the kidney with his bayonet, wrapping his hand around the Kraut’s mouth. He turned him over and stabbed him three times in the gut in quick succession, the German falling into his arms. Ian waited until the light went out of his eyes and his body went limp before removing his hand. He looked up to find the man and his daughter staring at him, horrified by what he had just done. They bolted like rabbits, leaving him alone with the dead Kraut. 

~~

It was a long night. Mickey had orders from the surgeon to stay away from the aid station until they moved out again. Supposedly he had been working too hard. After he got himself together, made himself stop crying, he went back to the others. No one commented on his red eyes. It was okay to cry like it was okay to pray, as long as you did it in private. Harper of all people found him, handing him a loaf of bread and watched him choke it down. Harper didn’t pray with him, didn’t try to comfort him. Just made sure he ate and wandered off again. Mickey spent the rest of the night stopping himself from stealing a rifle anyways and finding Babe. 

He would close his eyes for maybe five minutes at a time, turn over, sit up, and debate leaving again. Didn’t sleep a wink. He kept seeing Ian dead in a ditch, or hauled off to be a German P.O.W. Since he couldn’t sleep he pulled out his raincoat and a pen and paper. He lit his flashlight and bent to write. Though what or to who he didn’t know. His sister was working a factory job, much to their father’s displeasure. Mickey ground his teeth. A letter to her might get her in trouble, and he didn’t know what to tell her anyways. _Hey sis, I can’t tell you where I am or what I’m doing or that I’m falling in love with my superior but he’s probably dead and there’s nothing I can do about it._ He could write to Iggy but he wrote that off just as quickly. 

He thought about it and decided to write to Ian. Write the things he couldn’t say to him. Write the things he could never, ever say out loud to anyone else. The letter was a mess, and the more he wrote the more he realized should Ian miraculously make it back, he would be too embarrassed to ever let the ginger see it. He wrote until his hand hurt and a little beyond, rewriting entire chunks of it. Then he folded it, stuck it deep within his shirt, and came out of the raincoat for air. It was dawn and no sign of Babe and the others. No sign of Ian. 

He got out of his sack and traveled to the road. It was quiet. Quiet but for the sound of a jeep. It honked at him, stopping at the line where Hall and Ryan, another fucking replacement, who were watching the road. They sounded happy, though Mickey didn’t see why until Ian scrambled out of the side of the truck, covered in mud and blood, teeth flashing against his grimy face. Were he a God-fearing man, he would have considered the moment some kind of providence. Babe and the others slapped Ian on the back, but he too only stared at Mickey. 

Mickey didn’t know whether to kiss him or strangle him. 

~~

They were sitting on a roof. Ian was keeping watch. The moon was hidden behind clouds, the night dark as pitch. Mickey hadn’t said a damned word to him since he’d come back. He had left the barn behind in the morning, finding the Germans gone. Babe had picked him up in the jeep shortly after. Mickey had walked him back to the aid station, patched him up, and then disappeared when the surgeon yelled at him to get out and get some sleep. Ian had not seen hide nor hair of him for almost twenty-four hours. Until he’d climbed on the roof. 

Ian had been crying. He tried to hide it from Mickey, wiping his eyes. He couldn’t even say why he was crying if anyone had decided to ask him. Relief, guilt, frustration, exhaustion. Homesickness so acute it hurt. All and none of the above. Mickey threw an arm around his shoulder, stroking his hair. 

“Keep your eyes on the line Ian.” 

He whispered the words softly. Ian let out a choked noise and nodded, wiping his eyes. Mickey sat close to him the rest of the night, keeping him company until Babe relieved him at dawn. 

~~

Holland was a lot like Camp Taccoma in that without Ian, Mickey wasn’t sure he would make it through. They were still tugging each other up the mountain, or that’s what it felt like. Funny thing, when their motto was “Currahe." Stand Alone. They lost another platoon lieutenant, the man sent to replace Doyle. Friendly fire of all things, and the private who shot him had proceeded to give him three syrettes of morphine. Mickey almost broke his nose on that one. Jackson was bumped up to battalion commander. Good for the battalion, bad for Easy Company. Their noncoms were solid, Ian in particular. Lieutenant Foley was a good man under fire, Mickey liked him well enough for an officer. He had been with them since day one. No it was their new company C.O., Lieutenant Danes, that was going to get them all killed. 

But Mickey couldn’t do anything about it but hope someone shot him bad enough Mickey couldn’t patch him up. Holland wore him out, stretched him thin, but he was okay. He had stolen moments with Ian. He never did show him the letter. They only ever had time for kissing, or a handjob, but it was okay. Mickey wished at times Ian was a girl back home. Partly because he wouldn’t have to hide that, wouldn’t have anything to be ashamed of. Mostly because if Ian was back home, he wouldn’t be so close to dying all of the time. If he were a girl back stateside, Mickey might sleep once in a while. 

Except he wasn’t. Ian Gallagher was a soldier and he was Mickey’s. He was there in the trenches, a fucking force on the battlefield and off, a live wire in Mickey's arms. The stolen moments where they pressed each other into stone walls, and Ian would bury his face in Mickey’s neck and moan Mickey’s name when he got off, or hold Mickey together even as his touch caused him to fall apart, those were what they had. Mickey didn’t sleep much as fall changed to winter, as they pushed their way through Holland. As they were sent back to Belgium with little in the way of supplies, to try to punch through the German lines once more. He was okay though, because he didn’t dream either. 


	8. Give Me a Sign

_Dead star shine_

_Light up the sky_

_I'm all out of breath_

_My walls are closing in_

_Days go by_

_Give me a sign_

_Come back to the end_

_The shepherd of the damned_

 

_I can feel you falling away_

 

_No longer the lost_

_No longer the same_

_And I can see you starting to break_

_I'll keep you alive_

_If you show me the way_

_Forever - and ever_

_the scars will remain_

_I'm falling apart_

_Leave me here forever in the dark_ \- Give Me a Sign, Breaking Benjamin

 

December 19th, 1944. Some fucking forest in Belgium. 

They were in the roughest spot they had been in since jumping into Normandy. Boxed in by the Germans on all sides. No food, no winter gear, little ammo. Name it and they didn’t have it. Ian had never been so cold in his life and he was from Chicago. He and Foley were stretched thin, trying to keep morale up since Danes never seemed to be around. It was hard when they were taking casualties left and right with no aid station and no surgeon. The medics were even lower in supplies then they were on ammo. Down to using bedsheets the nurses in Bastogne gave them instead of bandages. Ian was faking it for the men, but he was coming apart at the seams. The constant barrage of artillery raining on them, coming in at random, was keeping all of them from sleep. 

Then there was Mickey. Mickey was worrying him the most. The man had become a ghost in the last few weeks. He had taken it upon himself to be caretaker to the men with the other medics. He bounced around from foxhole to foxhole day and night, begging morphine off of the men and seeing to their every need. Ian even saw him find extra shoes for Babe when his shoes got blown up with his foxhole. Mick had pulled them off a dead trooper without even blinking, then gone right back to the line. He was more attached to every wounded man cause he treated most of them. Attached to the living because he had saved more than one of their lives. So Mickey was sleeping worse than Ian, eating less. And Ian didn’t have a clue as to what to do about it. 

At least until he pulled some chocolate off a dead Kraut. He told Bull he was going to make sure the medic got some sleep, he wasn’t the only one who had noticed how withdrawn Mickey was. Ian was allowed this. No one cared if he curled up at night with the medic every now and then, rubbed his hair when a man bled out under him, or if he made sure he got at least something to eat during the day. The one thing about the war had been no one read into two men trying to keep each other from falling apart. Which was his intention when he crawled into Mickey’s hole and closed the canvas tight behind him. 

Mickey barely glanced up at him. He was so pale and ragged it made Ian’s heart ache. He joined Mickey under the blanket and threw an arm around him, pulling the chocolate out from his pocket. He broke off a chunk and gave it to Mickey, who chewed it absently while leaning his head into Ian’s chest. They had lost Williams earlier in the day. He had made it back to Bastogne only to bleed it out in Mickey’s arms. Ian remembered vaguely how he had froze up and buried his nose in Mickey’s hair in shame. He stroked the smaller man’s arm with his fingers, trying not to cry. 

“I am so fucking tired Ian.” 

Ian kissed the top of his head. “I know. Me too.” 

He wrapped both arms tighter around the medic, as if he could keep him safe that way. As if he could stop the Germans from doing anything. Mickey buried further into his chest, tangling a hand in his O.D.’s. Ian’s mind flashed back to Williams' leg, a foot away from him in the snow. Williams crying for his mother and Mickey trying to reassure him. It was amazing watching Mickey work, how seriously he took even treating Babe’s trench foot. But it hurt too, seeing him cut open every time he couldn’t save someone. 

“What’re you gonna do…after?” 

The question caught Ian off-guard. “Sleep.” 

Mickey shook his head slightly. “After the war. When you make it out.” 

“Honestly? Hadn’t thought about it. My sister’s fiancé wants to buy some farmland. Maybe I’ll milk cows.” 

The brunette snorted. “You'd make a pretty milkmaid Gallagher."

There was no heat to the words. Ian thumped him lightly though. 

“What about you smart ass?”

“I’m not going to make it back.” 

He whispered the words softly, but they had a certain finality to them Ian couldn’t take. He tightened his hold on Mickey, squeezing him hard enough to where he made a noise of protest. 

“Gallagher…” 

“Don’t say shit like that Mickey. Not to me. You’re making it through this if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you.” He whispered the words hotly. “Does it hurt?” 

Mickey pushed away from him, just enough to look into his eyes. They looked dead. There wasn’t fear or sorrow in his face. There was nothing. His eyes chilled Ian to the bone faster than the frozen forest outside. He was silent for a long moment before burying his face in Ian’s chest once more. 

“No. It doesn’t.” 

Ian could only clutch onto him. Mickey did sleep eventually, but Ian didn’t. Couldn’t. Just slowly fell apart in silence. Shattered himself around his medic, all while maintaining strict noise discipline so as not to wake up Jerry. 

~~

In some dim part of himself, Mickey was guilty over what he had said to Ian. They were in this together. He didn’t want to drag Ian down into the numb pit of despair he’d fallen into. But Mickey was only going through the motions these days. Had let too many men die, had heard too many death rattles and too many teenagers begging for their mothers before they died. He had nothing to go home too. His only job for months had been keeping Ian alive through the war. Then somehow the other men in Easy. But he was failing even that now. 

Maybe it was his misery that made him miss the Kraut scout. Maybe it was just he was too focused on the cold and getting more morphine from Dog Company. Either way he didn’t notice the German until he had almost stepped on him. The man jumped up and shot Mickey twice before running off. Mickey fell to the ground, stunned more than anything. Then he saw the way the blood spurted out and cried out. 

“Medic!” 

He stuck his hand over the leg wound, the worse of the two holes. The other was in his chest on his right side. Everything seemed to fade except for the pain and the sound of his own heartbeat. Then a pair of bottle-green eyes were inches from his own, strong hands clutching his O.D.’s. 

“You got shot Mickey!” 

“Yes I fucking know I got shot!” 

He was back, and he decided that he too, wanted his mother. He was starting to shake from the blood loss, was dizzy, and Ian’s pale hands were covered in his own blood, trying to staunch the bleeding. 

“How do I fix you Mickey? Tell me how to-tell me how.” The ginger’s voice shook. 

“Ian look at me.” He did and Mickey tried to stay as calm as possible. “Put your jacket over me and put sulfa on the leg. Now.” 

He clapped his own hand to the chest wound. _An inch away from my heart. Christ what a shitty shot._ Ian reached into his pack and pulled out sulfa and the bandages. Thankfully, Gray, Bull, and Babe showed up around then. Good timing, because Mickey was fading. Gray took over, sticking the plasma in Mickey’s arm. Ian clutched his face with one hand. 

“Stay with me asshole. Don’t do this.” 

He was crying, his tears mingling with Mickey’s blood as he wiped his eyes. Mickey reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter, his hand trembling. That irritated him, but he was too tired to care. He shoved the letter into Ian’s hand as the jeep pulled up. The piled him in the back, and he tried to tell them he needed Ian to come too. And to give the ginger his damned jacket back. But he was too far gone. 

~~

Ian just stood there staring at the bloody letter, unable to move. Bull yanked him back through the trees as the artillery started raining down again. He, Babe, and Bull huddled together, and all Ian could think about was the fucking letter. Then he looked at Babe and Bull, how utterly terrified they were. Knew Lieutenant Danes was probably nowhere to be found again. Knew he need to be fucking here and not with Mickey and not in the back of that jeep. And it hurt when the artillery stopped and he saw he was still covered in Mickey’s blood. Hurt, but he could deal the hurt. He didn’t open the letter. Not even when Bastogne was bombed and he didn’t know if Mickey had been in the church or not. Not when General Patton punched through at last on December 26th. Not when the Allies supposedly won the Battle of the Bulge. He didn’t think winning was what it was called when you came out of the other side feeling like a dead man. 

But they did come out. They were given food and supplies, winter coats and gloves to say the least, and sent on to take Foy. Ian didn’t feel right. He didn’t think there was a single man who had come out of Bastogne in one piece. Some wounds just weren’t as visible as others. That and no Mickey. Gray was crazy coupled with ruthlessness. He didn’t take the hits as hard as Mickey did, still able to laugh and joke even when no else seemed able. Whether that was good or bad Ian never could decide, he just knew the medic wasn’t Mickey so he didn’t care for him. 

Ian was everywhere, overcompensating for Danes’ idiocy. Ian would like to check out and worry about Mickey until he was blue, but he didn’t have the luxury with their idiot of a company commander. Danes was never around. Even when Boyd shot himself in the leg and bled out on Gray. Jackson even asked Ian and Ian found himself covering for the lieutenant. Until Babe lost his leg. It was in the middle of another round of mortar fire. More foxholes, more hellfire. That he could have handled. His company C.O. disappearing in the middle of the fight, he could not. Then Babe lost his whole damn leg. 

Worse still, Bull and White got taken out in the same blast. Ian lost Mickey. Then the three men he was closest to in the company within a week. They were set to take Foy the next day, and he didn’t trust Danes as far as he could throw him. When he told Jackson he could see the Captain wanted to help, but there wasn’t anything he could do. So Ian isolated himself for fifteen minutes, needing to read the letter. Because he honestly didn’t think he would get to see Mickey again. Didn’t even know if he was alive, and didn’t think he was going to survive the taking of Foy even if Mickey was. 

_Ian,_

_What did I tell you about being a fucking hero? You can’t do this to a guy. You can’t be someone’s reason for living and then abandon them. What did you think you were doing? Jesus Christ Gallagher. I can’t even breathe right now. There isn’t anything for me if you don’t come back. Nothing back home and nothing here. I could go AWOL and shoot Hitler myself and just be done with it all. But then what? You fucking dick you need to come back. Please. Just…Please. It hurts too much._

Ian let himself cry before wiping his eyes and stuffing the letter back inside his O.D.’s. Then he hitched his rifle up and squared his shoulders. If there was the smallest chance Mickey would survive his wounds, then he had to survive at least one more mission. No matter how bad it hurt. 

~~

He did survive. Amazingly enough, Danes froze and they bumped Foley up to company C.O., relieving Danes of command on the spot. That night, when they still thought they might be pulled off of the front lines, Ian made a list. They got to sleep in the church, and the sisters had the choir sing for them. They could relax a little. So Ian started counting casualties. They’d come into Belgium with 145 men total. They were leaving with 63. That was about the time Foley told him he’d done a great job keeping the men together in Bastogne. That he was getting his battlefield commission. They were making him a lieutenant. 

Ian found it hard to care. 


	9. Ghosts That We Knew

_So lead me back, turn south from that place_

_And close my eyes to my recent disgrace_

_'Cause you know my call_

_And we'll share my all_

_And our children come and they will hear me roar_

_So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light_

_'Cause oh that gave me such a fright_

_But I will hold as long as you like_

_Just promise me we'll be alright_ \- Ghost That We Knew, Mumford and Sons

February, 1945. Haguenau, France 

Mickey bounced off the truck, hefting his duffle as he strode through the city. It was all banged up. He had to duck mortar rounds on the way in. Old hat now. He spotted a couple of guys from Easy. Hall, who now had a nice pair of chevrons and pulled Mickey into a one-armed hug. 

“Well if it isn’t the baddest medic in the battalion. You go AWOL from the hospital Doc?” 

Mickey snorted. “Something like that. Where’s the C.P.?” 

“In the building that looks like it’s about to fall down.” 

“Real fucking helpful Jimmy.” 

Hall chuckled and then was dragging him into cover as a stray couple rounds started falling again. They were laughing when a baby-faced lieutenant scrambled down next to them, panting heavily. When the rounds stopped he rose to his feet with them. 

“Hello men. Where’s the command post?” 

Hall looked the boy over and very politely pointed to the hotel across the street. “Over there Lieutenant. You can’t miss it.” 

He elbowed Mickey and clapped his arm. “Glad to have you back Mick. Crazy bastard, you get a chance to go home and you come right back.” 

"What can I say Jimmy? The Battered Bastards of Bastogne would be lost without me.” 

“The shit newspapers come up with.” 

They were all but ignoring the lieutenant, who was watched them in fascination, eyes lit up. Hall went off to do whatever the hell Hall did and Mickey jerked his head. 

“Come on LT I’m headed that way.” 

The kid nodded, sporadic and jerky. _Christ did he graduate yesterday?_ He was eager the way all replacements were eager, all piss and vinegar until they saw any real combat. From private to the lieutenants, they were all the same. Mickey led him to the C.P., wishing he had asked Hall where Ian was. Should have known he would find him arguing with Captain Foley, his back to Mickey and the new guy. Mickey was nervous, fingering his duffle and biting his lip. He wanted to bolt but Foley looked over Ian’s shoulder and grinned. 

“Doc you’re back!” 

He came around the desk to shake Mickey’s hand. “Yeah couldn’t take the hospital no more sir.” 

“Good it’s damned good to see you.” 

Mickey had to try very hard not to look at the ginger staring at them like he’d seen a ghost. _Didn’t anyone tell him I didn’t die?_ Instead he shook hands with Foley and chattered a bit. Listened while the new lieutenant introduced himself with a name Mickey didn’t care to learn. Then he couldn’t resist anymore and locked eyes with Ian. If looks could kill, the intensity in those eyes may have done him in. Though he couldn’t read the man’s expression to save his life. He had aged so much in so little time, face pale except where a red beard was making it’s ragged way across his face. 

But the fire was back in his eyes, a fire echoing in Mickey’s gut. It was a low burn, smoldering and banked by the winter behind them. But it was there. 

“Sargent Gallagher if you’re so eager to lead this fucking patrol you better go get the men ready.” 

The spell between them broke and Ian nodded. “Yes sir. Milkovich come with me, I can show you where what’s left of first platoon is staying.” 

Ian grabbed his gear from him and slung it over his own shoulder. “Can’t have you straining yourself.” 

Mickey growled as they stepped into the street. Ian led him to an empty house, not saying a word. He dropped Mickey’s stuff and slammed him into a wall. He wrapped both hands in the front of Mickey’s O.D.’s, nostrils flared and pupils blown. It scared Mickey, because the fire wasn’t banked anymore. Ian looked more demon than human in that moment. Then he started unbuttoning Mickey’s new O.D.’s. 

“Gallagher…” Ian ignored him, almost ripping the front of his uniform. “Ian! What are you doing?” 

Ian slid the collar of his undershirt down and jabbed his finger into the tender remnants of his bullet hole. Mickey jerked away but Ian trapped him, grabbing his O.D.’s again and keeping him in place. 

“Does it hurt now asshole?” Ian whispered, voice deadly,  

He growled and grabbed Ian’s wrists. “Yes.” 

He spat the word out, hot and angry. It had been hell in the hospital, knowing he’d let Easy down. Had let Ian down. Expected Ian to hate him. Instead the ginger was suddenly burying his face in Mickey’s chest, kissing the bullet hole. He kissed his way up Mickey’s chest, desperately using his teeth, his beard rough against Mickey’s skin. Mickey groaned and grabbed Ian’s face, guiding him to his lips. 

They were both gasping for air, and Mickey felt some of what he’d left behind in that forest return to him. Just a little piece, but his heart beat easier for it. Ian looked at him, mouth slightly open. 

“Don’t ever do something like that again.” 

Mickey snorted. “I didn’t do it on purpose Firecrotch.” 

“Mick.” 

Mickey buttoned up his O.D.’s, overwhelmed. He chewed his lip as Ian braced his shoulders, burning a hole through him with those fucking eyes. He finished when the artillery started dropping in again. Ian grabbed his gun. 

“To the basement go!” 

They clamored down together, falling into the basement and hitting the ground in a tangle of limbs. Ian covered Mickey’s head with his arms as the building shook apart. Mickey hoped they didn’t hit his bag. When it stopped he and Ian got to their feet. Then Ian doubled over laughing. It was such an unexpected sight Mickey found himself joining him. Tension uncoiled between them, and Mickey found he was laughing out of pure relief. Relief at being back, relief at being alive, being relived Ian didn’t hate his guts. Ian laughed until he was wheezing, straightening and wiping tears from his eyes. He wrapped an arm around Mickey’s shoulders, kissing his forehead as they walked out of the basement. 

“So I’ve got some good news and some bad news.” 

“Yeah?” 

Ian removed his arm, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well they’re giving me my commission.” 

“Don’t officers get shot first?” 

“Yeah yeah fuck you.” 

Mickey snorted. “You wish _Lieutenant_.” 

Ian let his mouth hang open for a moment before going on. “The second piece of news is that I volunteered to lead a patrol across the river tonight to capture a couple of German prisoners.” 

Mickey glared at him. “You volunteered?” 

“Well it’s all men from first and second and Sink’s a decent platoon leader but he’s got pneumonia and they need someone with experience. That new kid just graduated on fucking D-Day…” 

At least he had decency to look guilty as he trailed off. Mickey punched him in the gut and finished climbing to the basement. At the top of the stairs he looked down at Ian. 

“Coming Gallagher?” 

“Not any time soon it seems.” 

Ian wrapped an arm around his gut and started to follow. Mickey flipped him off and went to check on his gear. 

~~

Something had shifted after Bastogne. He was still exhausted, still numb without Mickey. A friend in Dog Company who’d been shot sent Ian a letter from the hospital, letting him know Mickey was just fine and fighting with the doctors to stay in the war. That had been enough, enough to help him keep putting one foot in front of the other. When Mickey showed up again, shaven and showered, no longer the skeleton he’d been in Bastogne, it made everything a bit more bearable. Ian didn’t think he could use the word okay, nothing about this shit was okay. But he could breathe again, so that was something. 

The water lapped against their boats, the only noise as they made their way across the river. Pulled along by the ropes, the only eyes on them the men in the rear. Ian had fought hard to be able to lead this mission. Sneak behind German lines, run up into an outpost, capture a couple of prisoners, lay some demolition, and run back. Simple, and insanely dangerous. He was going to be damned if he let anyone else lead this patrol besides him, particularly the new platoon leader, Lieutenant Webster. Ian had found out that Webster tried to get Foley let him lead. And laughed because the kid had graduated West Point on D-Day. 

The boat hit the bank and he jumped out, moving the men quietly through the buildings. They hadn’t even been allowed to take their helmets. No rattle, no shine. They moved to the front of the outpost, where they were nabbing the Germans from. Ian took a deep breath as the men got  into place. 

“Alright on my signal-”

Fucking Upcham ran up and threw a grenade through the window. Only the blast got him too, and he fell to the ground, bleeding out. It was chaos from then on out. Ian could barely think as he rushed the men inside. Upcham was amazingly still alive, breathe coming in gurgling gasps. They dragged him along and Ian found himself pointing his gun at unarmed Germans, listening to his men shout back and forth with them. Webster, who Jackson had forced him to take along for the experience, was hiding in a corner. Martin was shouting to them in German, getting the men to raise their hands up further. There was too much noise. 

“Shifty start laying the demolition! Webb get Upcham stabilized. Martin I want hands on heads. Webster!” The lieutenant blinked and looked at him. “Sir get your gun on them.” 

It was still chaos but at least they were getting moving. They had to get out. All Ian knew was Upcham better live so he could kill him. They got the Germans and themselves out, now to the tune of artillery fire and gunshots and Ian was certain the whole of the Kraut's line was on their heels. They climbed into the boats, one of the Germans got hit, falling out of the boat. No time to do anything about it as Ian grabbed the ropes. He forced the men to keep the other Germans down, keeping their own heads down. 

They moved into the O.P. The Germans were nowhere near as much as a concern to Ian as the chaos surrounding Upcham. Ian grabbed the boys hand, one of his eyes swollen shut. The whole side of his face and neck was ripped and bleeding. He made gurgling noises when his good eye saw Ian, letting out a whimper. Everyone was still shouting, Martin threatening to kill both of them in English and German. 

“Webb go get a medic!” 

Webb bolted. Some idiot kept shouting how Upcham was going to die. To his surprise, Webster was shouting back. 

“Private! Enough he doesn’t need to hear that shit right now.” 

It didn’t stop the chaos though. Then the room went nearly silent. Ian looked up to see Mickey had arrived, coming to stand on Upcham’s other side. Ian almost cried with relief. 

“What do you need Mick?” 

“Give me a light.” He turned all of his attention to Upcham. “Hey Billy you’re going to be alright. Doc’s got you.” 

Upcham whimpered again, gripping Ian’s hand a little tighter. Ian used his free hand to hold his lighter over Billy’s face. The room was dead, letting Mickey do his thing. Mickey gave Upcham a smile. 

“Alright Billy look at the light for me. Good man.” He jerked his head to Harper and Gray. “Let’s get him out of here.” 

Ian helped them lift him off the table. Then Upcham started gurgling, the distinct sound of a death rattle. Mickey had them drop him to the ground, gripping Upcham’s neck as fresh blood trickled out of it. 

“Billy stay with me. Come on you’re not going to die on me! Stay with me-”

Billy went limp. Ian felt a knife twist through his heart. The silence in the room shifted as grief racked the men. Upcham had survived Bastogne with them. He’d helped Babe look for Ian in Holland. The idiot was even younger than Ian. He’d lied about his age too. Ian locked eyes with Mickey. He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. It was Webster who broke the spell. 

“First Sergeant let me make the report for you.” 

Ian turned to the lieutenant and nodded.  The younger man patted his shoulder and Ian grabbed a blanket from Shifty. He lay it over Upcham’s body and then turned to the men. 

“Alright Martin we need you to get information from the Krauts. Doc get Billy out of here.” 

He rattled off orders mechanically. The three medics moved Upcham’s body, the men started moving again. It was all so…quiet. 

~~

Mickey was a little surprised when Ian came storming in and throwing his helmet at a wall. Then punching the wall, looking surprised when he pulled his hand away and blood was running down his knuckles. 

“Ian, what the fuck?” 

The ginger was shaking with rage. Unhinged. He growled. 

“Apparently even though we lost a man, we did such a great job on the mission Colonel Scott wants us to run another mission last name. Billy wasn’t even old enough to buy a fucking beer Mick. Shit neither am I.” 

Mickey approached him cautiously, not liking the cagey look in Ian’s eyes. “Neither am I. Not for another month anyways.” 

He grabbed Ian’s hand tentatively and the ginger pulled it away roughly. Turned his back and tried to hit the wall again. Mickey grabbed his arm. 

“Enough Ian.” He did his best keep his voice level. “You need to c-”

Ian cut him off by rounding on him, taking a swing at him instead of the wall. Mickey ducked it without difficulty. The redhead was reckless in his rage, and Mickey grabbed his torso and shoved him into the wall. He pinned Ian’s arms as best he could. As soon as he did the fight went right out of Ian. 

Mickey released his wrists and Ian buried his face in his neck. “I’m sorry Mick. I’m so, so sorry. It was all my fault.” 

He just wrapped his arms around Ian, running his hands up and down his back and neck. Ian kept apologizing over and over, murmuring against his neck. Mickey had no idea what for. Then Ian said it. 

“It was my fault you got shot Mick. My fault with Babe and with Bull a-and with-”

Mickey had to cut him off. “Gallagher enough. Look at me.” 

Ian did, the forlorn look on his face so much worse than the rage. Mickey chewed his lip, shaking his head and reaching a hand up to stroke Ian’s patchy ass beard. 

“It wasn’t your fault. Wasn’t my fault. We’ve come this far. Get your shit together because I can’t-“ He sighed, bowing his head. “I can’t lose you again.” 

Ian cupped his chin, making him look up. “Do me a favor?” 

“Anything.” 

“Lie to me and tell me we’re going to be alright.” 

Mickey let out a strained chuckle. “We’re gonna be alright Gallagher. We’re gonna kick some Nazi ass and you’re gonna go home and milk cows.” 

“And you?” Ian’s voice was low, eyes boring a hole through Mickey. 

He smiled, wringing a returning one out of Ian. “Oh I’ll be working a lot of meat.” 

The look on Ian’s face was priceless. Mickey felt his grin spread and he pulled away from Ian, reaching into his pocket. 

“My dad died. Left my sister the shop. She offered me a job.” 

“You’ve decided to live again then?” 

Ian was staring at him like Mickey had announced he was Jesus coming to single-handedly end the war. He nodded, thumbing his lip. 

“On the condition you stick around Gallagher. Oh and shave that fucking beard.” 

Ian responded by kissing him heatedly, then breaking off before Mickey was satisfied. He moved determinedly to the door, leaving Mickey exasperated behind him. 

“Oy! Firecrotch. Where are you going?” 

Ian turned at the door, grinning like a jack ass. “To find a razor.” 

“I didn’t mean right this second!” 

Ian was gone though. Mickey sighed and leaned his head against the window across the room. Watched as the German outpost exploded across the river. 

~~

They never did go on that second patrol. Jackson typed up a false report for the Colonel, the brass never got wise, and Ian was able to spend the night with Mickey. When they pulled out of the city, getting ready to move into German territory, there was the strong sense they had turned a corner. For the first time in almost eight months, Ian thought he might be able to see the end in sight. He wasn’t happy. Too much had happened, the war etched too far into his bones for that. But if Mickey needed him too, he could be okay again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thank you for the positive feedback! It has been a pleasant surprise and I'm having a good time writing this story. I'm thinking three chapters left at the most so hang in there with me.


	10. Still I Rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I apologize for this chapter being short but I only had so much in me to write it. I want to put it here, now, that this chapter has a graphic depiction of a concentration camp in it, which is the reason for how short it is. Once more would like to apologize to any Germans who might be offended, because we all know it was the Nazi party that was responsible and has nothing to do with Germans as a whole today, or even back then. I hope I did it justice. Also I didn't just get this chapter straight from Band of Brothers, I also got it from my memories of the Holocaust Museum in Washington D.C. and a few different documentaries.

_You may write me down in history_

_With your bitter, twisted lies,_

_You may tread me in the very dirt_

_But still, like dust, I'll rise._

 

_Does my sassiness upset you?_

_Why are you beset with gloom?_

_'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells_

_Pumping in my living room._

 

_Just like moons and like suns,_

_With the certainty of tides,_

_Just like hopes springing high,_

_Still I'll rise._

_Did you want to see me broken?_

_Bowed head and lowered eyes?_

_Shoulders falling down like teardrops._

_Weakened by my soulful cries._ -Excerpt from _Still I Rise_ , by Maya Angelou 

March, 1945. German Countryside. 

Ian was pretty sure Germany was his favorite place in the whole goddamned world. 

“Fuck-Gallagher…Jesus.” 

Ian clamped a hand over Mickey’s mouth. “Shut. Up.” 

Ian thrust up and pumped Mickey at the same time to ensure his silence. The brunette shuddered and came beneath him. Ian bit into his shoulder to keep quiet, following him over the edge. He collapsed onto Mickey’s slick back for a moment, bending to plant another bite on his back. Then they both stood shakily and got dressed. Ian was grinning from ear to ear. He tried to stop but he couldn’t and Mickey saw, shaking his head. 

“Would ya quit mooning over me?” 

“No.” 

Mickey snorted and lit up a smoke, going to dip his feet in the stream. Ian joined him, taking the smoke from him and tilting his head back. They were going to have to head back in a minute. People were going to notice if he and Mickey disappeared for four hours to “borrow” eggs from the Germans. Though at worst, Foley would assume they were fraternizing with the local women. Ian chuckled at the though and Mickey took his smoke back. 

“Do I wanna know what’s going on in there?” 

Ian planted a kiss on his temple before he could protest and got to his feet. “That Kraut woman Shifty scared off yesterday. She punched him in the mouth.” 

“Wouldn’t you?” 

Mickey let Ian help him out of the stream and they pulled their socks and boots on. Ian picked up his helmet as they walked out of the woods. He was reluctant to leave the quiet brook behind, with the way the sun reflected off it and made Mickey’s pale skin glow. They walked slowly, for once not needing to rush. 

Ian mulled over his answer. “Maybe not if he’d stop with the chew.” 

Mickey picked some hay out of his helmet and flicked it Ian’s way, looking irritated. Ian chuckled again. He sobered a bit by the time they got into the city where they had set up earlier in the week. One of the new replacements saw Ian and almost fell down out of fright. He saluted in a jerky motion, making Mickey laugh. Ian waited until the kid was gone before smacking the back of Mickey’s head lightly. 

“You know when they transfer battlefield coms it’s because of pricks like you who don’t respect the chain of command.” 

“Whatever you say Lieutenant Gallagher sir.” 

Mickey wiggled his eyebrows. Ian sighed and let it slide. He wanted to know what Mickey thought about his inevitable transfer. Wanted to know what the fuck they were going to do about what it was between them when the war was over. Mostly he wanted to bend Mickey over again and fuck the smugness off his face, but it would have to wait. They got the eggs deposited to the cook and then Mickey had to go back to the aid station. Ian went to listen to Captain Foley’s current events lecture, ready for another mundane day in Nazi Germany. 

~~

“He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright, he checked all his equipment and made sure his pack was tight; he had to sit and listen to those awful engines roar, you ain't gonna jump no more!"

They were sitting in the truck, on their way to the Alps according to Ian. Singing and joking as the vehicles bumped along the road. Mickey sung along with the rest of them, feeling something he had no name for. 

“Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, he ain't gonna jump no more!” 

They were officially invading Nazi Germany and it felt damned good. Occasionally Mickey would glance up to the jeep Ian was riding in with Foley, reassuring himself. Reassuring himself of what he didn’t know. But he wasn’t about to overthink it. Just flicked his eyes to the jeep and back to the line of Germans marching past them. Inwardly he kept thinking f _uck you, fuck you, oh and especially fuck you_. He wondered vaguely about the men marching past, wondering what the fuck they had been thinking. He wasn’t the only one. 

“You socialist fucks! What the fuck were you thinking? Why are we here? What was the fucking point?!” 

Mickey sighed and grabbed the back of Shifty’s O.D.’s and made him sit back down. “Shut the fuck up. They’re done man.” 

Shifty was still agitated. Mickey felt the barest glimmer of respect for the Krauts. Even in defeat, they marched with their backs straight. Most of the ones marching past were the same age as them. Some of them barely looking sixteen. He turned the other way when a few P.O.W.’s were forced to their knees and shot in the head. Turned his head at the German families they would kick out of their homes to have a place to shack up for the night. Not his fucking problem. 

Until it was. It started when Shifty went tearing through the city, begging for an officer. He got Major Jackson. Who grabbed a bunch of them, including Mickey and Ian, and piled them into the trucks without a word. It was the smell that hit them first. The smell was what got Mickey first, the fucking stench. He didn’t know what to make of it. His eyes watered and he wanted to gag. Then they got to the camp. He would have thought it was a P.O.W. camp at first glance. But it became very clear to everyone very fast that it wasn’t. 

Some buildings were smoking, piles of charred bodies laying on the ground. The inhabitants inside were mere skeletons with skin stretched over them. There sores over them, their ragged pinstripe clothing hanging off of them. Gold stars were sewn onto their clothing. Jackson had them snap the chain around the gates with a bolt cutter. Martin had to translate what was going on, but Mickey missed most of the conversation. He wandered through the camp in a daze. One of the men grabbed him, pressing kisses to his cheeks. He started crying and Mickey held him mechanically, not knowing what the fuck else to do. 

“Hey. Hey you’re alright now. Fuck you’re alright now.”

He was afraid if he touched the man the wrong way he would break him. The stench was making him sick. And it got worse. He made the mistake of looking inside one of the huts, finding men either dead or too sick to move. At some point, without knowing how, he got out of the edge of the fence and was violently sick. Ian joined him before too long, paler than usual, hands shaking with rage. 

“They’re just…they’re just fucking normal people Mick. They’re not even criminals they’re just…Jesus fucking Christ.” 

Mickey didn’t have the words. He just had numbed horror. _God the fucking stench._  

~~

Ian almost shot a Kraut baker in the head. They were taking food from the people of of the city for the prisoners, and he got so pissed at the man shouting in rage he pulled out his pistol, grabbing the man by the shirt. 

“You need to shut the fuck up.” 

The man trembled at that was oddly satisfying. Ian was seeing red, his own hands shaking so bad he could barely hold the gun straight. Then strong fingers wrapped around his wrist. 

“Ian.” 

Mickey’s voice cut through the haze. Ian let the man go, let Mickey pull him away. The next few minutes were a blur. Then he was sitting on the curb with a canteen being pressed to his lips. He looked up to see Mickey and waved his hand away. 

“I’m not thirsty.” 

“It ain’t water.” Mickey was insistent. 

Ian took a deep swig of whatever it was, choking a bit when it burned down his throat. He gulped and wiped the back of his mouth, handing it back. Mickey waved his hand. 

“I gotta head back. Foley wants you to start gathering civilians to send back to clean up the camp tomorrow. Try not to shoot any while I’m gone.” 

Then Ian was alone again. He was kind of okay with that. He took another swig of the canteen and then went about his job. He was going through the motions, afraid if he stopped he would kill someone. He didn’t know if the German _had_ known about the camp. In his anger he didn’t particularly care. But he kept it together until Mickey came back, looking as drained as Ian had ever seen him. They got roaring drunk that night along with most of the men in Easy that could get away with it. None of them knew a better way to respond to what they had seen. In the morning Ian vaguely remembered Mickey wrapping his arms around his middle from behind, kissing his shoulder blades, and whispering “Don’t leave me.” But it could just as easily have been a dream.

It was some time before he connected the dots. If there was any reason to be here, to have sacrificed his youth, he had found it in those people in the camps. If he never did another good thing in his life, he would go on knowing they had saved somebody. He tried not to think about all the people they didn't get to in time. If he did that, he didn't think he'd be able to keep his sanity. He found himself trying to write a letter home to his sister. Trying to say all of this. But his hand kept shaking around the pen. His hand shook all of the time now. Mickey found him that way, looking over his shoulder to read what he had written. Irritated Ian threw the pen down, balling his hand into a fist and opening it. Mickey grabbed it briefly and squeezed. He didn't ask if Ian was alright. Didn't ask if he'd had another nightmare or if he had eaten that day. He just handed Ian some cheese and bread and went and flopped out on Ian's bunk. 

"Hey how come you get a room to yourself?" 

Ian ignored him and ate in silence, staring at the messy sentences he'd scrawled out. He crumpled the paper and threw it at Mickey's head, grabbing a clean one. But he could only stare at it. Stare at it and see broken bodies and dead eyes. Mickey eyed him. 

"Torture yourself all you want, it's never gonna make sense." 

Ian tried to stop his hand shaking by tapping the paper with the pen. It didn't help. He gave up, slumping in his chair. 

"I just never would have thought we had the easy part of this war." 

Mickey got off the bed and came behind him. He rested his hands on Ian's shoulder, digging his fingers in possessively. It was too rough. Ian was grateful though. Those people in the camps had lost everything. He still had Mickey, however temporarily. He got to his feet and wrapped his arms around the shorter man. He didn't know how to tell Mickey that if he had known he was going to meet him, he would have signed up a hundred times over. So he did what he always did and kissed him. Forcing the horror from his mind. He needed Mickey then like he needed his next breath. They were fucking alive, and whatever happened next he was determined to keep living for the all people he couldn't save. 

~~

“Hitler’s dead. He shot himself.” 

Mickey gaped at Ian when he announced the news to the men. It was such a fucking cop out. Three years of his life, losing his friends and getting shot, those fucking camps, all so Hitler could shoot himself in the head. _Fucking bastard._  

“Why didn’t he do that years ago?” Martin said what they were all thinking. 

Ian snorted, clapping Martin on the shoulder before turning away. “We move out in an hour. We’re going to Austria.” 

He said it in a singsong voice as he walked off. Mickey flicked his cigarette butt at Ian’s retreating back and leaned back in the truck, closing his eyes. He slid his helmet over his head for good measure. 

“Oy Shifty wake me up in an hour.” 

Shifty made some smart ass reply and Mickey flipped him off. Hitler, Roosevelt, dead. His father really really dead according to his sister. Fuck if he knew how he felt about any of it, or if he felt anything at all. He wondered vaguely what Austria would be like, whether he and Ian could get a good twenty minutes alone together, before drifting off to the tune of Beethoven coming from down the street. Their city in ruins, and the Germans were still playing music. _Fucking Jerry man._   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so we're coming up on the end here. The war is ending but the boys aren't out of the woods yet. I've been throwing around some ideas in my head for my next fiction, if anyone has any ideas they think I can tackle or you want to message me here's my tumblr. http://noplaceforthehero.tumblr.com/


	11. Kill Your Heroes

_Well, the sun one day will_  
 _Leave us all behind._  
 _Unexplainable sightings_  
 _In the sky._  
 _Well, I hate to be_  
 _The one to ruin the night._  
 _Right before your, right before your eyes._  
  
 _I say ya kill your heroes and_  
 _Fly, fly, baby don't cry._  
 _No need to worry cause_  
 _Everybody will die._  
 _Every day we just_  
 _Go, go, baby don't go._  
 _Don't you worry we_  
 _Love you more than you know_.- Kill Your Heroes, AWOL Nation

Bavaria. April, 1945

Mickey hung onto the envelop, finding Ian where he’d been every time he got a chance. In the fucking lake swimming. Mickey set the envelope down carefully and went to the bank, waiting until Ian spotted him. The ginger popped his head up, hair sleek and shiny. Mickey cupped his hands together and shouted. 

“Hey Nanook of the fucking North get outta there before you get pneumonia!” 

Ian chuckled and swam closer. He was wearing nothing but shorts and his dog tags, muscles rippling under the water as he swam. When he got close he splashed Mickey with the icy shit. Mickey glared at him and pulled him out of the water, wrapping his towel around him. 

“Mickey I can handle drying myself off.” 

Mickey ignored Ian, running the towel over his hair. Ian scrunched up his face in a way that made it a hundred percent worth it. When Mickey was satisfied he let Ian take the towel back and they sat on a log next to the bank of the river. Ian stretched out his long legs and Mickey let his eyes take in the sight, rake over the body he knew better than his own. Ian raised his eyebrows. 

“Would you stop mooning over me?” 

Mickey wiggled his eyebrows. “No.” 

He pulled out the envelope. He’d stolen the pictures he’d found of him and Ian. Jackson had found the regimental photographer, he had pictures now of all of them going back to Toccoma. He found the one he knew Ian would want. Mickey slid it over to him, chewing his lip. Ian just stared, amazed. It was a picture of him, Bull, Babe, and Mickey. Still at Camp Toccoma. When Mickey had seen it it had been like a punch in the gut. They looked young and happy. Ian shook his head slowly. 

“Damn.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Are there more?” 

Mickey nodded, pulling out a handful more photos. He had tried to take ones that had his men for Ian. Most where of White, Williams, Babe, and Bull. His favorite was one of him and Ian in their dress uniforms. It had been taken the day they got their wings. Ian had his arm slung over Mickey’s shoulder, goofy smile on his face. The ginger grinned and Mickey looked away shyly. 

“Looking sharp Doc.” 

“Yeah yeah.” 

Ian laughed. “You want this one?” 

“Nah. I have the copy.” 

Ian gawked at him and Mickey looked over his shoulder towards the river. Then a strong pair of arms wrapped around him from the side, hot lips pressing a kiss underneath his ear. Mickey yelped in surprise and Ian released him. Laughed his ass off like an idiot. Mickey tackled him into the dirt, once more pinning his arms above his head. He straddled Ian’s hips, liking that the ginger was wearing nothing but shorts now. 

“You know Gallagher if you’re not too worn out from your swim I’ve got a minute.” 

Ian snorted, not even pretending to put up a fight. “Just a minute?” 

Mickey grinned. “Well I wasn’t gonna say nothing but that last time…” 

“Oh that is it Milkovich. I think you could use a swim.” 

Ian yanked his arms out from under Mickey’s hands and grabbed him around the middle. He wrestled Mickey off the ledge and into the water.  

“No. Gallagher no!” 

Ian threw him into the water and then jumped in after him. Mickey floundered for a minute. Then he dragged his water-logged limbs over to Ian and attempted to drown him. 

“You fucking dick!”

Ian was still grinning despite Mickey’s attempts to kill him. Then he was forced out of the water, having to strip down and lay his O.D.’s out on the rocks. 

“Oh yeah Mickey take it off!” 

Mickey flipped Ian off before jumping back in the water in his skivvies and tags. It was fucking cold. But after they could go get a hot meal, hot showers even. They could play in the water like a couple of kids. Which he realized they were. At twenty-one and twenty they were just a pair of fucking kids. He forced the thought from his mind and focused on wrestling in the water with Ian. Fuck everything else for the morning. 

~~

Ian helped Shifty lay a pile of grenades on the mountain of rubble before them. He pulled the pin and the ran back to Major Jackson’s jeep. The SS had been ordered to make a last stand in the Alps, even though Hitler was dead. They’d started by closing off all the roads, blasting chunks of the mountain onto them. The 101st, and particularly Easy, wanted to beat the French up the mountain. The engineers were taking too long, so now Ian found himself running away and laughing with Shifty. Jackson shook his head and the Colonel pulled up. Finally giving the orders to find another way up the mountain. Foley waved to Ian. 

“Come on Gallagher let’s beat that French bastard.” 

“Currahee!” 

“Currahee!” 

They did find a way up. Then from the empty city of Bertchesgarden they went onto the Eagle’s Nest. The crown jewel of Hitler’s empire. They met no resistance. Only a Kraut that had committed suicide and the most incredible views of his life. It was May 8th, 1945. VE day. Ian hugged Foley, and about a half a dozen men, left the Eagle’s Nest and went to find Mickey. Mickey, who had stolen a bunch of silver from Nazi officers and all of the alcohol he could carry. Ian only had time to kiss him in an isolated room before they were moving on once more to Austria. It didn’t matter though. He almost choked on the joy he felt bubbling through him. Somehow, Austria in the spring was even more beautiful than the Alps had been, green pastures and pretty blonde men and women everywhere. 

His joy was short-lived though. The war was still going on in Japan. The men without enough points would have to ship out. Ian had the points. He could go home or stay and be transferred to another unit. He honestly didn’t know which option to take, because either way Mickey didn’t have the points. He needed eighty-five to go home. He had eighty-three. Ian wanted to stay. Since it seemed the 101st was destined to jump on Tokyo, which meant Mickey was jumping on Tokyo, Ian wanted to stay. Mickey had called him a fucking idiot and that had been the only conversation they had had about it. The brass had a lottery June 6th, the anniversary of D-Day, to send one man home. Mickey lost that too. Martin got to go home though. 

So a few days after Martin had gone home, Ian piled Mickey, Shifty, and Hall into a jeep to get into trouble. The others were laughing and drinking, bitching about the points they didn’t have. It was dark, the night was clear, and Ian was caught somewhere between warm because Mickey was stealing glances at him and frozen because they would probably be separated again soon. That was when he spotted the headlights of the other jeep. He pulled over, jumping out to cries of protests from the others. Only to find a private he didn’t recognize standing over the dead body of a German officer. 

“They wouldn’t give me any gas.” 

He was completely unhinged. It made the hairs on the back of Ian’s neck stand up. 

“Okay Private. Why don’t you give me the gun?” 

“Do you have any gas Lieutenant?” 

Ian shook his head and that was it. The private shot him twice and then bolted. Ian was suddenly laying in the road, Mickey kneeling over him and shouting. He was cold. 

~~

_No, no, no._ Mickey jumped out of the jeep, having to choose between shooting the private or saving Ian. He chose Ian. But all he had was his hands. It was his worst nightmare come true. One shot to the leg, a half-inch from Ian’s artery. One to his stomach that needed to be operated on ten seconds ago. Mickey pulled out his handkerchief and tied off the leg wound as best he could, his hands shaking. 

“…Mick.” 

Ian was clutching the stomach wound with both hands. Mickey put his own hand over it to help stem the bleeding. The others had gone to get whoever was at the aid station. He stroked Ian’s cheek, his skin pale and clammy. 

“You can’t fucking do this Ian.” 

“I’m…sorry.” 

Mickey hated himself for it but he looked around, making sure the road was empty, and then planted a quick kiss on Ian’s forehead. 

“Don’t be sorry. Save your strength.” 

Ian nodded weakly, moaning. “Mickey…” 

“You’re going to be alright Ian. I’m here.” 

Finally the medical truck showed up. Both Harper and Gray hopped out. With plasma and bandages. Foley had shown up as well. Mickey grabbed Harper’s gear from him and started working on Ian with Gray. 

“Alright Gallagher we’re getting you through this. Do we have a surgeon?” 

“No. Shifty is looking for a Kraut surgeon they think is in town. I have every man in Easy looking for the shooter.” Foley growled out the words. 

Ian let out another weak whimper that tore through Mickey. They got him stabilized and Mickey inserted the plasma into his arm, holding the bottle. 

“You staying with him or coming to find the shooter Mick?” 

Mickey didn’t even have to think about it. “Staying. I’m staying with him.” 

Foley squeezed his shoulder. “Go to the hospital. Shifty will bring you a surgeon one way or another.” 

They did get him to the hospital. Every minute that passed, the weaker Ian got, the more a piece of Mickey seemed to tear off. He wasn’t going to have anything left but raw terror by the time the night was done. Waiting for the surgeon left him as exposed as a nerve. Waiting while the man operated almost killed him. But he wouldn’t leave. Not even when they found the shooter. 

The next day, the Japanese surrendered. Every man in the 101st Airborne was being sent home. The war was over. In some ways, watching Ian fight for his life, Mickey knew his war would never be. 

~~

_He was walking the line, moving slowly through the forest, shoulders hunched against the cold. The only reason he knew they were still alive and not in hell where they belonged was because it was too damned cold. Then the shells started raining down again. He ran towards the foxholes, barely keeping ahead of the shells. He was knocked to his knees and he crawled forward, mostly using his elbows. It was Bull who pulled him into the hole, using his bulk to drag him through the snow and the dirt._

_Across the way he could see Mickey, face a mix of dark and light between the dirt and the flashing from artillery. Their eyes locked until the mortar stopped falling. Hot fear ripped through Ian, he needed to run. Just run away and not look back. Mickey gave a slight shake of his head and Ian fell back into the dirt wall of the hole. He closed his eyes against the forest, sucking in breath. Next to him Bull was silent, but Ian could hear him doing the same._

_When he opened his eyes Mickey was crawling into his hole, their knees knocking against one another’s. It may have been intentional, may not have been either. But it was what Ian needed to bring him down. Then the shells started again. He started like a rabbit; he was so raw. He was exposed and ragged. The urge to run was stronger than ever. Then a shell landed in their hole._

Ian woke, drawing in breath like he had been drowning. He didn’t know where he was, only that he was exhausted and terrified. It was dark, but he could make out just enough from the lights in the hall to make out he was in a hospital. He tried to sit up and let out a moan when it felt like he might tear in half. He felt too weak to lift up his sheet and see what was going on. He turned his head and found a sleeping Mickey in the chair next to the bed. 

He was in his O.D.’s, snoring softly. A lock of dark hair had fallen over his face. Ian smiled, wishing he had the energy to reach over and smooth it back. Mickey’s head bobbed and he woke up, rubbing his eye with his palm. Then he looked up, a flash of surprise flickering over his face when he found Ian watching him. 

“Hey Sleepyface..” 

His small smile made Ian ache. The relief in his voice, and the shadows under Mickey's eyes, sent a stab of guilt through him. Ian could only stare at him. His mind was foggy. Mickey got to his feet, planting a kiss on Ian’s forehead. 

“Go back to sleep Ian. You’re safe.” 

Ian nodded. He must be if Mickey was kissing him. If the medic said it was so. He closed his eyes again. The heat from his nightmare hadn’t quite faded, but he knew then he was okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm a terrible person but I promise this was the plan from the beginning. Also it's always the darkest before the dawn right?


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't find a more perfect song for these two than this. There are a couple of Gallavich-specific videos to the song but this link is the full version with lyrsics. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPNqJkQtUdQ

_Although you love me, sometimes we meet_

_Things can get ugly but we're still a team_

_We are an army, the brakes are within'_

_But, that's why we're stronger and that's how we win_

_If I fall short, If I break rank_

_It's a bloodsport but I understand_

_I'm all yours_

_I'm a man_

_I'm on all fours, willingly down_

_Loving you is a bloodsport_

_Fighting in a love war -_ Bloodsport, Raleigh Ritchie 

 

October 13, 1945, Chicago, Illinois

Ian stared at the door, hand shaking. He didn’t want to go in. He leaned more heavily on his cane, annoyed at the pain in his leg. Annoyed he was afraid to see his family again. Annoyed Mickey was making him go in alone, smoking against the hood of his truck. 

“Christ Gallagher just knock on the damned door already.” 

Ian turned to shout something back at him when the door opened. Debbie looked him up and down, mouth slightly agape. Then she grinned, yanking Ian into a hug. He dropped the cane and hugged her back, burying his face in her hair. 

“Jesus Debs you really grew up on me.” 

“Debbie who…” 

Carl wandered in, staring at Ian in his dress uniform and his medals. Debbie didn’t relinquish her hold. Carl was almost Ian’s height now, if still on the scrawny side. His voice was deep. He was damn-near a man. Ian extended his hand, having to reach around Debbie. Carl, forgetting his dignity, shook it briefly and then wrapped his arms around Ian. 

“Fi! Lip! Liam! Ian’s back!” 

Ian heard two voices echo the words and Liam and Fiona were there, wrapping their arms around him as well. It was too much, all too much. Fiona was crying. When they finally released him Ian wiped her tears with her thumb. Then Lip walked in, looking like he had aged ten years instead of the three it had been since Ian last saw him. He walked up to Ian, dark circles under his eyes, and he knew his brother had had it worse than him the last three years. He was not the smart ass and insufferable Lip that had left for basic. He was First Lieutenant Phillip Gallagher, 7th Infantry. Then he grabbed Ian’s hand with a tight grin, pulling him into a bear hug. He was Lip again.

“You look like shit.” 

“Right back at you.” 

Lip looked him and down, eyes ghosting over Ian’s medals. He flicked the blue regimental bar the 101st had gotten for their part in D-Day. 

“What no Purple Heart?” 

“Not for friendly fire.” 

Liam’s small voice interrupted them. “Fi why is there another Army man watching the house?” 

_Oops._ “He’s with me little man.” 

Ian limped to the door. “You can stop scaring the neighbors now!” 

He watched Mickey as he walked all the way in. He needed a bit of a breather anyways. His hand still shook. According to the Limey docs, he was shell-shocked. According to Mickey, he was “going to be fucking fine.” Either way, he was happier with Mickey there. The brunette let him lean on him, both pretending they didn’t see where Debbie had set his cane. He rested both hands on Mickey and turned to face the room with a grin. 

“Everybody I’d like you to meet Mickey Milkovich. The man who saved my life.” 

Mickey visibly flinched and shot Ian a glare before he too was pulled into the mob. Ian leaned back against the wall, rubbing his leg when he thought no one was looking. He should have known his family wouldn’t change a bit just because he and Lip had left. He knew before she even asked that Fiona was going to make Mickey stay for dinner. 

December 25, 1945.

Mickey paused at the door to the Gallagher house, not wanting to go in. Mandy squeezed his arm. 

“Come on Mick. You’re a war hero why are being such a girl about this?” 

He glared at her and knocked at the door. Jimmy, Fiona’s worthless husband, answered the door. Mickey didn’t trust or like him for the simple fact he hadn’t enlisted like damn near every boy in the neighborhood. Or that he wanted to drag Fiona and Liam away from the city like he was some farmer. But Mandy was all smiles and charm and Christ he needed to get her married soon or sent to a convent judging by the stares she kept getting. Of course, only he knew why she wasn’t already. Iggy kept trying to press the issue until Mickey got him to back off. They stepped out of the cold and Jimmy took their coats. Mickey’s eyes automatically found Ian who was showing Carl how to clean his new luger properly. _That kid is going to shoot his eye out one of these days._

Ian looked over and smiled, and Mickey had to bite his lip to keep from smiling back. Ian had his good days and bad days. The cold helped neither the pain in his leg or the nightmares, but he was getting better. He didn’t run away from his family as often. Had even started looking for work again. He stood and kissed Mandy on the cheek. That was when Mickey noticed Lip was staring at the three of them with what looked like jealousy. Mickey almost grinned again. Then Ian jerked his head. 

“Mickey help me up the stairs, I’ve got something to show you.” 

Mickey seriously doubted Ian needed his help but he obliged anyways. Ian could ask for the moon if he wanted too. Mickey didn’t know when Ian would get married and pump out a couple of kids, start making something of his life, but he was dreading the day. So when Ian shut the door to his room and kissed him, he didn’t resist even though the entire Gallagher clan was downstairs getting ready for dinner. Then Ian reached his hand into his pocket, pulling out a square package the size of his hand, all wrapped up. Mickey stared at it. His hand trembling, Ian shoved it at Mickey. 

“Merry Christmas Mick.” 

Mickey took it in silence, the familiar tightness in his chest at any kind of emotion kept him from speaking. He opened it slowly, finding a velvet box. Inside was a watch. Mickey picked it up, finding an inscription on the inside. _July 8, 1942._ The day they had met. He put it on then and there. When he was able he looked up at Ian, finding his eyes shinier than they ought to be. 

“I…” He rubbed the back of his neck and Mickey’s heart stopped. “Well I…shit.” 

He grabbed Mickey’s hands in his own. It was the trembling that spurred Mickey into motion. He squeezed Ian’s hands back. 

“I know.” He sighed. “Me too Ian…”  

Ian grinned, the smile turning him into the gangly kid he’d been when they’d met. Mickey chuckled, relieved. Ian bent and kissed the top of his head. It was then Mickey knew, _knew_ , he and Ian were it for each other. He cupped the back of Ian’s head and kissed him roughly. In a moment they’d have to go downstairs and pretend they weren’t a couple. But for that moment, they were together. They were home. 

May 4, 1950.

Ian shook his head as he looked in the mirror. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” 

Lip stood next to him, shaking his head. “You insisted I go through with it.” 

“Yes. Because Mickey would have murdered you otherwise. I would have helped.” 

“Hey I have been nothing but a gentleman.” He shook his hands out, rolling his shoulders. “How did I let you talk me into this?” 

Ian rolled his eyes and faced his brother, smoothing his lapels and adjusting his tie. 

“You love her. You’re going to give her plenty of fat children and get old and wrinkly right alongside her. It’ll be great.” 

“I hate you.” He grinned and his brother shook his head, straightening his tie. “Is this how you feel around him? That why you won’t get married?” 

His hand stilled and Ian looked into his brother’s eyes. He searched for malice, or disapproval. There was only curiosity. So Ian nodded. 

“How’d you guess?” 

Lip shrugged. “You two aren’t as slick as you think you are. It was the way you looked at him when you two first came home, by the way.” 

Ian clapped Lip’s shoulder. “Thanks for not saying anything.” 

“Have I ever let you down? Just be careful. So he’s really going to murder me?” 

“If you don’t treat her right, yeah.”

Lip sighed and took one last look in the mirror. “Christ can’t I go back to fighting the Japs?” 

Ian laughed and turned him towards the door. “Come on big guy. You survived college, you survived the war. You can survive your own wedding.”  

Lip let Ian push him forward. He only needed the cane occasionally these days, and he was determined to make it through the wedding without it. He might need both hands to tie Lip down. 

~~

Mickey knocked on the door, getting a good look at his sister. She was beautiful. For once he tried to say it out loud. 

“Mandy…you look, well, you look-”

“Like a bride Mick?” 

He nodded. She smiled, looking like she was trying not to cry. She went to him, adjusting his tie. He was grateful she hadn’t insisted the wedding party dress in their uniforms. Glad to put the war behind him in one way or another. He kissed her forehead and she ran her hands over his shoulders. He shook his head. 

“Can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” 

She looped her arm through his. “You’re not supposed to be more nervous than me.” 

“I ain’t fucking nervous.” 

She hit him. “Watch the language! We’re in a church.” 

He snorted. “Hey if God wanted to strike me down, he woulda done it by now.” 

“Hey Mick?” 

They walked towards the doors, lining up behind the rest of the people Mandy had roped into this circus. 

“Yeah sis?” 

“Thanks for doing this.” 

The music started and he kissed her cheek quickly. “Just don’t make a habit of it.” 

“Asshole.” 

He grinned. “Language.” 

She elbowed his ribs with a smile of her own. Too quickly it was their turn. Desperately he found Ian’s eyes, hoping Ian could keep him grounded. Ian, as always, didn’t let him down. He grinned, looking way too damn good. Better than his fool brother anyways. Mandy squeezed his arm, and he tore his eyes from Ian’s long enough to catch the look of utter happiness on her face. He bit his lip, trying to hang onto _some_ scrap of dignity and keep from smiling. But then his eyes found Ian’s and he was grinning and tearing up anyways for no good damn reason. 

He didn’t remember much of the ceremony in the years to come. Not much besides the way Ian had looked in his tux and his own flipping stomach as he gave Mandy away. He almost stuttered over his one line before he sat down hastily. He knew one thing, he was happy, watching his sister got married. He wanted to curl around the feeling, hide it away in the part of his heart he kept for Ian and Mandy alone. Except even he had to admit the rest of the fucking Gallaghers had wormed their way in as well. Which was how Debbie was able to pull him onto the dance floor, her own fiancé watching jealously. Well her fiancé and Ian. He got drunk and found himself dancing more than few times with Fiona and Mandy, who were as insistent as Debbie. Even Iggy danced. The Gallaghers had pulled in the Milkoviches as easily as Ian and pulled him in. 

They were his family. 

July 6, 1950.

Ian threw the last of his luggage in the back with a carelessness that got Mickey’s attention. 

“Easy Gallagher Jesus!” 

He would have been lying if he said he hadn’t done it on purpose. He took Mickey’s bag from him and placed it in more gently since the shorter man was still watching him. Fiona and Liam were watching from the doorway. She kept a hand on her stomach, holding it protectively even though she wasn’t even showing yet. Ian went to hug them good-bye one last time. He was sorry to be leaving her. Carl and Debbie were both out of the house, Carl surprising all of them by getting into college. Debbie was training to be a nurse, which Ian blamed entirely on Mickey. Lip and Mandy had yet to return from their honeymoon, so he and Ian had said their good-byes after the wedding. He had fond memories of that night, mostly because he’d convinced Mickey to dance with him once they had gotten back to Mickey’s house. Mickey was giving the shop to Iggy. They were as unencumbered as they were ever going to be. 

Fiona hugged him tightly. “You’ll be back by the time this baby is born, both of you?” 

Ian nodded. “Of course Fi.” 

“I’m going to miss you and Mick so much. You’ll call when you get…where are you two even going?” 

He chuckled. “Good question…Oy Mick?” 

“What?” 

“Where are we going?” 

Mickey as kneeling next to a tire, examining it closely. “You said you wanted to go west.” 

“Which way is west again?” 

The other man waved his hand in irritation. “That way chucklehead.” 

Ian turned back to Fiona. “We're going that way.” 

She sighed and Liam giggled. Ian pulled him into a hug and Mickey joined them, hands in his pockets. 

“Ready when you are Firecrotch.” 

Fiona pulled Mickey into a hug that had Ian and Liam chuckling. “Take care of each other.” 

“Yeah yeah.” Mickey rubbed the back of his neck and shook Liam’s hand. “You take good care of your sister. If Jimmy gives you any trouble give Ian a call when we get where we’re goin.” 

Liam nodded, brown eyes wide as ever when he looked at Mickey. Ian grinned and pulled out the keys. 

“Did I mention I’m driving?” 

Mickey patted his pockets momentarily in disbelief, then made a grab for the keys. Ian held them above his head as Mickey tried to swipe them away. Fiona shook her head. 

“Come on Liam. These two are going to be arguing about who drives for the next eight months.”

Ian laughed and Mickey glared, shaking his head. “You better have something strong for me if you’re going to put me through you driving my truck.” 

He reached into his pocket and tossed Mickey a flask before heading to the driver’s seat. “I’ll have something stiffer for you once we get to the hotel.” 

Mickey had already tipped the flask back. He flipped Ian off as Ian opened the door, leaning on it as he watched the older man drink. For a second he was in England, getting ready for his second combat drop and wishing he could kiss his best friend because _damn_. He was speeding through the English countryside trying to figure out how he could even think of being happy because of the man in the sidecar. Then Mickey, as always, brought him back. 

“The fuck are you looking at?” 

Ian grinned, hitting the top of the truck. “Nothing. Let’s go.” 

Mickey eyed him for a second and then they climbed in. Ian slammed the door and started the engine. His hand only shook a little bit, but Mickey grabbed it anyways, giving it a brief squeeze before pulling out the map. Ian flipped on the radio, making his way slowly out of the city. Mickey lit a cigarette, occasionally letting Ian take a drag. It was about an hour in, singing along to the radio, when Ian realized how happy he was. 

“I don't want to set the world on fire, I just want to start a flame in your heart. In my heart I have but one desire. And that one is you no other will do.” 

He turned the radio down for a minute. “Hey Mick?”  

“Hm?” 

Mickey was still reading the map, brow furrowed in concentration. Ian grinned, watching him. 

“I love you.” 

Mickey snorted, not looking up. “Keep your eyes on the road Gallagher.” 

So Ian did. After a moment Mickey reached over and squeezed his knee, again without looking up from the map. Ian just smiled stupidly, turning the radio back up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everybody who read this and left feedback. Hope it was good for my first published fanfic. I know I ended this Lord of the Rings style but I needed a happy ending and I hope you guys did too. Now you know how big of a sap I am. I am more than open to doing one shots in this universe in the future. Also there may or may not be a preview to my next AU with these two. Guess we'll see.


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